Into the Wild
by Littlefish
Summary: While investigating a case involving missing hikers, Sam and Dean find themselves caught up in a town's dark secret, leaving both boys struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2. Hurt/angst *Complete*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.

**Summary: **While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.

**Warning: **This story will contain mild language (sorry, but if you want to stay true to Dean's character it is somewhat unavoidable) and some graphic violence.

**CHAPTER 1**

It was a beautiful spring day. One of those rare days that hover between winter's cold grasp and summer's humid heat, neither hot nor cold...just perfect. It was the type of day where housewives opened up windows and doors to air out months of stale winter air and school children squirmed and fidgeted, eager to race from the confines of their educational cells and hit the playgrounds and skate parks. Birds sang merely from the still bare branches, while the very air itself smelled of fresh earth, new blossoms, and the promise of new life.

Sam Winchester leaned back against the front hood of the Impala, breathing deeply of the fresh spring air, the locks of his long brown hair playing across his forehead in the slight breeze. His left arm was settled comfortably across the top of the Impala's side view mirror, his right hand loosely gripping the long neck of a bottle of beer. His long sleeved flannel shirt, which he had removed moments earlier, lay on the hood of the car beside him. Sam's eyes were closed, head tilted slightly back as he relished the feel of the warm afternoon sun across his face and bare arms.

The Impala was parked in a small gravel parking lot located somewhere along the south branch of Lake Jacoma, just outside of Blue Springs, Missouri. The gentle sound of waves lapping against a rocky shore played on the soft breeze, and somewhere nearby the loud calls of a flock of geese echoed through the air. The afternoon sun played happily across the gentle ripples of the lake, causing the illusion that the water was covered in millions of tiny crystals, sparkling and shimmering with the lazy movements of the water. Occasionally the waters of the lake would be disturbed as a fish would burst briefly through the surface, and distantly, in some un-seen portion of the lake, the sound of a motor boat drifted across the still afternoon air. The faint yet unmistakable scent of fish and wet vegetation permeated the air, distinct and yet not at all unpleasant.

Sam lifted his beer to his lips and took a long draw before dropping the bottle loosely back down to his side. The combination of the beer and the warm afternoon sun was causing him to feel drowsy, and he had to resist the temptation to lay down across the sun-warmed hood of the Impala, his back to the windshield, and take a long nap. It had been a very long time since he had felt so relaxed, so peaceful, and he savored the moment, knowing all too well that it would not last.

A sharp curse, followed by the sound of metal clanking against metal caused him to glance down where he could just see the bottom half of his brother's legs peeking out from beneath the side of the car. Another clank followed by another curse, and Sam watched as Dean's booted feet twisted in the soft gravel, pushing his brother another inch beneath the Impala as Dean struggled to position himself better to finish whatever it was he was doing.

"Need help?" Sam asked halfheartedly, lifting his beer to his mouth once more and taking another small swig.

Dean's movements under the car stilled at the question, and Sam could almost picture the look of incredulity on his brother's face. Dean's snort was muffled, but Sam could clearly hear his brother's muttered reply, and it caused him to grin. Though his family came from a long line of mechanics on his father's side, the gene had obviously skipped over Sam, a flaw which had never really bothered him overmuch. When he looked at a car, he saw a car, and it was as simple as that. It was different for Dean. When his brother looked at a car, he saw beneath the exterior, his mind's eyes stripping the vehicle down to its frame, evaluating and critiquing. There were very few things his brother could _not_ do with a car, a trait Sam was very grateful Dean had picked up from their dad as it had saved their bacon…and their wallet…on more than one occasion.

"You can't say I didn't offer," he replied with a shrug, looking out across the blue waters of the lake. The beautiful weather, combined with the peaceful atmosphere around the lake, provided a much needed respite from the never-ending monotony of the road. He welcomed even small breaks like this, and couldn't help but hope that it would take his brother a while to fix whatever was wrong with the car.

Closing his eyes once more, he relaxed and let his mind take him back to his time at Stanford, the last time he could remember ever really feeling this calm and relaxed. He could clearly remember spending days just like this studying on a blanket spread out beneath the bell tower on campus, Jessica tucked comfortably beside him. The campus gardener had planted a variety of roses around the base of the bell tower, and Jessica had always enjoyed the smell of the first spring blossoms. Life had been so simple then, his greatest worry that a teacher might not like his essay, or an all-nighter out with friends would negatively impact his scores on a test. He had been happy and content, the prospect of a hopeful and happy future spread out before him.

Sam titled his head to one side, rolling his neck slightly to ease muscles continually tense from too many hours on the road. He found it hard to believe that barely a year and a half had passed since his life at Stanford. Since Jessica. So much had changed in that brief time that it felt more as though it were a lifetime ago. Sam had once allowed himself to believe that he would one day be able to return to the normal life he so desperately desired. Even with Jessica gone, he had maintained hope that his life held more than traveling back and forth across the country, staying in cheap hotels, eating unhealthy food, stealing and scamming to survive,…hunting, killing. That hope was gone now, shattered by the death of his father and the final words John had uttered to his eldest son. Now Sam knew there would never be any going back; never any _normal_.

Sam scrubbed a hand down across his face and tried to banish his depressing thoughts. It was far too beautiful a day to allow memories from the past and worries over the future drag him down. Dean had told him they would take it one day at a time, and so far, that plan seemed to be working. Life might not be a bed of roses for either of them, but at least they were surviving. At least they were together.

Sam took another long pull from his beer, glancing down at his brother's dusty boots poking out from beneath the car. He could hear Dean's occasional mutters and curses, combined with the clanking of tools against metal. He couldn't help but wonder for the millionth time what life would be like without his brother. Dean had been his anchor and support for as long as he could remember, his brother the one constant in a life filled with uncertainty and change. Though he had never admitted it to Dean, even when Sam had been away at Stanford, the simple knowledge that his brother was only a phone call away had provided him with a sense of peace and security. And now, with everything that had happened since their father's death, Sam often felt that Dean's determined faith and support of him was the only thing that kept him moving forward.

Sometimes Sam looked at how reliant he was on his brother and felt a blossom of fear deep in his stomach. It scared him that he depended so much on Dean, and at times he felt an almost desperate need to get away, if for no other reason than to prove that he could; to prove that _Sam_ could exist apart from _Dean._ He knew a time would eventually come when he would no longer be able to depend on his brother's strength but need to find his own, and he felt at once both desperate for and terrified of that day.

"That should do it." Sam jumped a little as his brother's voice broke into his reverie. He watched as Dean began to wriggle his way out from under the car, dragging his tool box with him. His brother's grey shirt was stained with dirt, oil, and sweet, and as he pulled his head from underneath the car, Sam couldn't help but grin at the long, dark smudge that ran the length of his brother's forehead. It was obvious Dean had used the back of a dirty hand to wipe the sweet from his forehead, and he was probably completely unaware of what had been left behind.

"All set?" Sam asked, kicking open the cooler at his feet and fishing out a cold beer to hand to his brother.

Dean wiped his grimy hands on a shop towel before dropping the rag into his open tool box and taking the offered drink with a grateful nod. Popping the lid off with one thumb he raised the bottle and took several swallows. "Yep," he replied a moment later, lowering the drink to his side with a contented sigh. "Idler arm needed adjusted. Baby should run straighter than a ruler now."

Sam shook his head at the affectionate tone his brother always adopted when speaking about his car. It was as though Dean hadn't just spent the last hour flat on his back on the rough ground, cramped and uncomfortable as he attempted to get his _baby_ back in perfect running order. Sam glanced down at his brother's hand gripping his beer, noting the predictable scrapes and abrasions across Dean's knuckles. Continuing to shake his head, he turned his gaze back out to the lake, choosing for the moment to forgo the normal ribbing he would give his brother regarding the relationship he had with his car.

Several long minutes passed as the boys stood in companionable silence, enjoying the nice weather and their beers. Dean was the first to break the silence. "You remember that small Cabin in Montana that we stayed in for a couple of weeks? The one that was by that lake?" he asked, his gaze flickering to Sam's face.

Sam nodded. "That was the summer of my freshman year in High School, wasn't it? Dad sprained his knee fighting some old lady spirit, and we holed up there while he was recovering." Sam smiled slightly at the memory. Dean had given their father a royal hard time over the fact that John had been sidelined by an 80 year old Grandma ghost. Sam could remember being in awe of his brother's daring. At the age of fifteen, he had viewed his father with a somewhat reverent fear, and would have never had the courage to tease him the way his brother had. "I remember we went fishing just about every day."

A mischievous grin flashed across Dean's handsome features. "Yeah, but I don't remember us catching much. That is, unless you count _your_ ugly ass."

Sam frowned at his brother. He remembered only too well the instance Dean was referring to. The bank of the small lake had been heavily wooded, and as he had struggled to untangle the top of his fishing pole from a strand of low hanging branches, he had somehow managed to get the hook caught in the seat of his pants. Dean had laughed so hard it had been a full five minutes before he calmed down enough to help untangle Sam from his embarrassing predicament.

Sam glared at his brother, which only caused Dean to bark out a quick laugh, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling with his mirth. Dean turned back to his study of the lake, lifting his beer for another long drink, the ghost of his smile still stretched across his face. Sam stared at his brother's profile, realizing just how long it had been since he had seen his brother smile. Really smile. Not the fake grin he flashed when trying to con someone, but the real deal.

The last six months since their father's death had been a living hell for the two brothers, but Sam knew that as deep as his pain and grief over his father's death was, it paled in comparison to the devastation that Dean felt. Part of that was due to the manner in which John had died, sacrificing himself to bring Dean back from the brink of death. Sam knew that his brother struggled under the heavy weight of guilt over that fact. Dean had been closer to their father than Sam had ever been. Despite John's many faults and failures, Dean had respected and admired him above all others. Sam could still remember Dean telling him when he was a child that their father was a superhero. He knew now that Dean had truly believed that, had continued to believe that right up until their father had died.

As if sensing Sam's scrutiny, Dean turned his head and met Sam's gaze, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

Sam was saved from having to come up with something to say by his phone ringing. Quickly turning his eyes away from his brother's perceptive gaze, he fished the phone from his pocket and flipped it open to check the caller ID. Recognizing the number, he hit the accept button and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey Bobby."

"Hey Sam," Bobby replied, his familiar rough voice echoing slightly over the connection. "You boys still in Missouri?"

"Just outside of Blue Springs." Sam confirmed. "Why, what's up?"

Dean shifted beside him, shooting Sam a questioning look, but Sam just raised one finger, signaling his brother to wait.

"I might have a job for you," Bobby replied. "Ellen just sent me some information about some mysterious disappearances just south of you, right near the Missouri/Arkansas border. I knew you boys were in the area and told her I would pass the info along."

Sam forced down a sigh as he straightened from his slouch against the car. He had known the peaceful afternoon wouldn't last.

"Tell me what you got…

* * *

"Alright, so tell me what we've got?" Dean asked, shifting in the booth to watch the retreating back of the waiter that had just taken their order.

They were in a small roadside diner; the sign in the window claiming it served the best BBQ this side of the Mississippi. As soon as they had finished ordering, Sam had immediately pulled out his laptop and was busy pulling up the information Bobby had forwarded them from Ellen.

"Eight missing hikers over the last three months," Sam responded distractedly, his fingers tapping out a steady rhythm over the laptop's keyboard.

Dean arched an eye and waited for more, but it seemed as though Sam was completely immersed in whatever he was doing on the computer. "Okay…" Dean hinted after a full minute had gone by without Sam elaborating, "fraid I'm going to need a bit more than that, Detective Jones. Last time I checked I hadn't developed any mind reading psychic abilities, so…"

Sam looked up long enough to shoot him a grimace before returning his attention to the screen in front of him. "Yeah, yeah, just give me a moment," he growled.

Dean bit back an impatient retort and instead settled back against the lumpy cushions of the booth. He reached for his coke and took a small sip, his face wrinkling in disgust. He would have much preferred a beer with his dinner, but since it looked as though they were in for a long night of driving, he had opted for the caffeine instead. He glanced around the small diner, looking for some sort of distraction…he had never done patience well…but there wasn't even a cute waitress working to offer any sort of diversion. The only other patrons were an elderly couple seated on the far side of the diner, their hands clasped together across the expanse of the table.

"Okay." Dean pulled his gaze away from the couple across the room and watched as Sam took a large gulp of his diet coke. "So, it looks as though all the hikers disappeared within the same 30 mile radius. The authorities seem to have ruled the disappearances as accidents and/or wildlife attacks. Apparently the area is pretty isolated and heavily wooded, with some fairly steep trails and sharp drop-offs, not to mention bears, cougars, and other wildlife."

"Sounds dreamy," Dean muttered.

"It's generally considered a pretty dangerous area to hike," Sam continued, sparing his brother a quick glance, "which apparently makes it a pretty popular area."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, because running straight toward the most dangerous area you can find for some nice r & r is a sure sign of mental stability."

Sam paused, casting his brother an incredulous look from beneath his lashes. "Considering what we _do_ for a living, Dean, I'm not so sure you're in a position to judge."

Dean flashed his brother a quick grin. "Ahh come on, Sammy, you know there's a difference." He raised his arms, palms up in a quick shrug. "I _know_ I'm insane. Never claimed differently. Besides, we're not running toward danger just for kicks and giggles. It's our job. We're not after some freak adrenaline rush."

"Right," Sam retorted, "So that time you got all excited about the possibility of hunting werewolves was just you being…what? Professional?"

"Damn straight," Dean shot back. "The difference is, we know what we're getting into, and we go in prepared."

Sam only shook his head in defeat. "Whatever, dude."

"So I take it we have reason to doubt the _authorities_ version of this?" Dean asked, taking another drink and watching as his brother turned back to his study of the computer screen.

"Several reasons, actually," Sam responded, straightening from the laptop once again and meeting Dean's gaze. "First, there's the fact that the disappearances seem to be somewhat of an annual thing, dating back about ten years or so. Each year it's the same thing, half a dozen or so missing hikers all around the same time period—late winter to early spring."

"Hardly peak hiking season," Dean murmured.

Sam merely nodded. "But that's not all," he continued. "Apparently they have yet to recover a single body. Not one, despite numerous searches of the entire area. You would think if wild animals were behind the disappearances, some remains would eventually show up somewhere."

Dean grunted, a small frown drawing thin lines between his brows.

"Apparently the locals have renamed that area the Bermuda Triangle of the Ozarks," Sam went on, pausing long enough to take a sip of his drink.

"Catchy name," Dean muttered, tracing a drop of condensation down the side of his glass.

"But the weirdest part of this whole thing," Sam continued, "is the victims themselves. All of them follow the same pattern…young males between the ages of twenty and thirty-five, healthy and active, and from all appearances, passing through the area alone. Many of them weren't even reported missing until several weeks after they vanished."

Dean frowned, absorbing his brother's words. "All dudes, eh? So what do the authorities think about _that_ little piece of information?"

Sam shrugged, "I'm guessing they're not quite sure _what_ to make of it, so they just…"

"Ignore it, yeah," Dean finished the sentence for him, shaking his head in disgust as he lifted his glass and took another deep swallow. "Alright, Sammy, so you got me convinced that this painting isn't all between the lines. So what do you think we're dealing with? Wendigo? Werewolf?"

Sam frowned. "I dunno, Dean. Last I checked, neither of those creatures were exactly particular about the age and gender of their victims."

"Okay, so what then? Angry spirit? Nest of fraternity vampires? Pagan god of the woods?"

Sam shook his head, his forehead crinkled in thought. "I don't know," he repeated. "We'll just have to do a little research once we get there. There's a small town named Denton in the area. I say we go in and talk with the local folk, see if any of them have seen or heard of anything unusual in the area."

"Unusual beyond the fact that their tourists keep going Houdini, you mean?" Dean remarked.

Sam sighed. "If there are any stories or legends surrounding the area, the local folk will know about it."

Dean merely shrugged his agreement. "At least this time we have somewhat of a timeframe to start our research from. You said the disappearances started about ten years ago?"

Sam nodded.

"Alright, then. So whatever creature we're dealing with either woke up or moved in around that time."

"Looks like," Sam muttered.

Dean suddenly straightened in his seat and fixed Sam with a curious stare, "how exactly did we get pinned with this hunt, anyway? I mean, Bobby said he got the information from Ellen, right? But how the hell did Ellen come up with this? Putting this information together, tracing these patterns, it's more like something…"

"Dad would do?" Sam interrupted, a sad smile twisting the corner of his lips. "It's exactly how dad would have done it." At Dean's nonplussed look, Sam hurried to explain. "Apparently when we showed Ash dad's journal, he took more information from it than just how to track demons. Ellen said he was so impressed with how dad managed to track patterns and events that he created some computer program that would help put together abstract data to help pinpoint inconsistencies and anomalies and configure…."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean held up his hands, cutting Sam off mid-sentence. "Stow the wordy explanation, college boy; I think I get the point. Ash created a program that does what dad used to do in his head, right?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Basically, yeah."

Dean shook his head in wonder. "That man's a freakin' genius. Weird as hell, but a genius nonetheless."

"No arguments there," Sam agreed.

Dean cast his little brother a sly look. "Hey Sammy, do all geek-boy geniuses wear their hair long, or do you and Ash just…OUCH!" Sam had kicked him under the table.

"So, Denton is about six hours away," Sam informed Dean, ignoring his brother's mutters about sharp feet. "I figure we can drive straight there, catch a few hours of sleep and start questioning the townsfolk first thing in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed, still rubbing his sore shin. His eyes lit up when he saw the waiter approaching the table with their food. Dean breathed in deeply, a soft sound of anticipation escaping his lips as the waiter delivered his double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions.

Across the booth, Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, do you even _want_ to live to be thirty," he asked, eyeing Dean sandwich with something akin to disgust.

"Not if I can't eat this," Dean retorted immediately, taking a huge bite of the burger and rolling his eyes in mock ecstasy.

"You order the same thing every time." Sam shook his head, his own fork poised over the mixed vegetable that came with is chicken fried steak. "Don't you ever want to try anything new?"

Dean shrugged, then replied through his half-chewed mouthful. "Hey, in our line of business, you never know when your last meal will become your _last_ meal, if you get what I mean. And I made up my mind a long time ago that _this_", he gestured toward the burger," was going to be my last meal."

Sam huffed out a sigh of resignation. "Your morbid, you know that?"

Dean didn't bother to respond.

* * *

Ty Gallups stared down at the body at his feet, his face twisted in a dispassionate scowl. He pressed the toe of his boot against the young man's ribs, rocking the body slightly, noting how rigor mortis had already begun to set in. "The men didn't notice he was sick?" he asked.

David Fuller shifted uncomfortably beside Ty, his gaze worried. "They said he had been complaining of stomach cramps, not really wanting to eat, but they didn't think it was that serious."

Ty snorted, fighting to hold back his rising irritation. "Apparently they were wrong," he growled, toeing his boot against the body yet again.

"What are we going to do?" David asked nervously.

Ty shot him a look of annoyance. "We burn the body and then I go and find us someone else."

David frowned doubtfully. "You think you can find another one so quickly? I mean, we have two days…"

Ty cut him off with a scathing look, turning to duck out of the small metal cage. "I'm well aware of our time constraints," he snarled. "I said I would find someone else, and I will." He paused outside the cage and glanced back at David. "Take care of his body and then meet me back in town."

David nodded reluctantly, and Ty turned and strode toward his truck. He knew he had his work cut out for him, but he was determined not to fail. What Ty Gallups started, Ty Gallups finished. He _would_ succeed, and everything would go forward just as planned.

Climbing into his truck, he slammed the door and started the engine, turning the truck toward the small dirt track that would lead him down to the road and then back home to Denton. He had a meeting with Mayor Travis in thirty minutes, and after that…

After that, he would start hunting.

* * *

_A/N-Okay, so this chapter was basically a set-up chapter, but don't worry, the action and blood-letting will start soon. Please review and let me know what you think. Remember, reviews feed my muse. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.

**Summary: **While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.

**Chapter 2**

The little town of Denton was nestled deep in the heart of the Ozark Mountains. The only access to the town was a single lane highway that twisted and curved around and through the tall hills and sloping valleys that made up the surrounding area. The nearest neighboring town was nearly forty miles away, placing Denton, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. The town itself was folded around the single main street that contained Denton's few businesses and government buildings, and the few streets that branched away from it were just as likely to be dirt as pavement. The houses of Denton were made up of a head-spinning variety of ramshackle wood cabins mixed in with more modern two-story brick homes with manicured lawns. The combination gave the town the look of a place struggling to embrace modernization while still being stuck somewhere in the 1920s.

Shivering slightly in the cool morning air, Dean dug in his jeans pocket for the key that would allow him into the hotel room. Pulling it free, he shuffled his coffee cup from his right hand to his left, swearing softly as some of the hot liquid spilled over onto his hand. Wrestling the old key into the lock, he finally pushed his way into the room, kicking the door shut behind him with one booted foot.

Setting his coffee down on the small table inside the door, he glanced toward the small bathroom, the soft hum of the shower indicating that Sam was finally up and preparing for the day. When Dean had left a half hour earlier to walk down to the hotel lobby in search of some coffee, his younger brother had still been sound asleep, sprawled across the bed on his stomach, snoring softly and drooling all over the pillow. Dean had let him sleep, knowing that rest was a valuable commodity that they too often went without.

It had been after three in the morning when they had finally pulled into town, the clerk in the hotel lobby looking surprised and vaguely annoyed at their late (or rather, early) arrival. Dean guessed that the hotel didn't see a whole lot of guests, except perhaps, during peak hiking season. He had been somewhat surprised that a little town like Denton was actually able to support its own hotel. Surprised, yet grateful, as it made things so much easier than if they were forced to commute back and forth from a neighboring town, or worse yet, sleep in the car. He had no idea how long this job was going to take them, and having a home base to work from that did not contain a steering wheel and leather seats was always a bonus.

Walking over to the sink located just outside the bathroom, Dean turned on the cold water and leaned over to splash the cool liquid onto his face. He had taken his shower over an hour earlier when he had first woken up, but whatever rejuvenating effects the hot water had offered then were already starting to wear off. Reaching for the nearby towel, he patted his face dry, and then regarded his reflection in the mirror, frowning at the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he had caught more than a few hours' sleep in a night, but his weary mind simply refused to supply the information.

The last several months were nothing but a blur of one case after another after another, and after every case he would tell himself it was time for a break. The only problem with taking a break was that it left him with too much time to think, and thinking was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that his father was gone and would never be coming back, his life sacrificed so Dean could carry on the fight. He didn't want to think about the implications of John's final words to him, or the god-awful reality that he might one day loose the one thing that mattered more than anything else to him; his brother. And so he kept going, kept pushing through the exhaustion, ignoring his body's tell-tale warning signs that he was nearing burn-out.

But now Dean was starting to get worried about Sam as well. His brother was looking more and more haggard as the months wore on, and Dean was reminded that this life was precisely what his brother had fought so hard to escape only a few short years prior. He didn't want this for Sam; wished desperately that his brother could somehow escape this life. At the same time, he knew without a doubt that he couldn't continue on without Sam by his side. Perhaps someday, but not now. Now he needed Sam beside him, if for no other reason than to insure that his brother remained safe; insure that Sam remained _Sam_.

_If you can't save him, you'll have to kill him._

Dean groaned and brought his hands to his head, his palms pressing ruthlessly against his temples in an effort to force the hated words out of his mind.

The door to the bathroom suddenly opened, spilling forth a wave of hot steam and his brother, a white hotel towel wrapped snuggly around Sam's waist. Dean couldn't help his small start of surprise, and he quickly dropped his hands, belatedly realizing that his tired mind had failed to register the sudden lack of noise from the bathroom that signaled Sam's shower had ended.

Sam shot him a look, his sharp eyes missing nothing, but much to Dean's relief his brother chose not to comment. Instead, he moved past Dean to the bed and began ruffling through his duffel. "I think the suit might be too much," he commented, still sorting through the contents of his bag. "I'm not sure exactly what private investigators wear around these parts, but _this _PI is going to settle for slacks and a button up shirt."

Dean grunted and turned to face his brother, leaning back against the sink and resting his forearms on the edge of the counter. "I got a quick peek at the town this morning on my way to the lobby for some caffeine. Trust me, you could probably ditch the tie and no one would notice."

"Good," Sam muttered, yanking his clothes from the duffel. "I hate that damn thing."

Dean chuckled. "Come on, Sammy. If you had become a lawyer like you planned, you would be wearing a tie every day. Hell, after a few years you'd probably get so snobby you'd have one sown onto your pajamas."

Sam shot him a look, and Dean raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, just wanted you to realize what kind of life I saved you from is all."

"Gee, thanks," Sam grumbled. "What a wonderful big brother you are; saved me from a life of comfort and riches. How could I ever find a way to thank you?"

The grin Dean gave his brother showed nothing of the sadness that flashed through him at the truthfulness behind his brother's words. A second later, his expression turned serious as he switched his mind to work mode. "I'm still not entirely sure I like this plan of yours, Sammy." He stated. "It seems awful risky to me. What if you're recognized?"

Sam shook his head. "It's _your_ face plastered all over the most wanted posters, not mine. Somehow they always seem to overlook me." He paused, casting Dean a warning look, apparently realizing he had just left himself wide open for any number of snide remarks. Dean merely smiled back at him, his face a picture of innocent attention. Sam let out a small cough before continuing. "The last hiker disappeared a little over a month ago. The police station is the most likely place to have information about his last known location. They might even be able to provide us with details about the other missing hikers. Right now, what we need is information, any sort of clue as to what we're dealing with. This is worth the risk."

Dean sighed. "Fine," he conceded. "Just make sure you get the hell out of there if anything starts feeling hinky."

"My _hinky_ radar will be on full alert," Sam assured him wryly. "So what are you going to be doing all day while I play PI?

Dean shrugged. "I figured I would mingle with the locals a bit, try to fish out any information about the area, see if there are any legends or stories that might be worth our while to chase down."

Sam let out a small huff of air, glancing at Dean from the corner of his eyes as he pulled on his shirt and began buttoning it up. "In other words, you're going to be hanging out at the local bar, drinking beer and flirting with the girls."

Dean pursed his lips, his eyes raised thoughtful, before shrugging and saying, "Yeah, sounds bout right."

"I _so_ got the raw end of this deal," Sam grumbled.

Dean raised his arms, his face a picture of pained innocence. "Hey man, it's not easy being wanted by the law. I just make the best out of it I can."

Sam rolled his eyes and reached for his slacks. "Yeah, right. You have my ID?"

Dean moved back to the table where he had left his coffee, rifling through the stack of papers he had dropped there earlier that morning. He quickly located the small ID card identifying Sam as _Henry Falco, private investigator_. "Here ya go, Henry," he called, flipping the card over his shoulder in the direction of Sam's bed. He grabbed his coffee, inhaling the rich scent before tipping the Styrofoam cup and draining the liquid in three deep gulps. Reaching for the keys to the Impala, Dean turned and watched as Sam moved to the sink and began brushing his teeth. "You take the car," he directed, jingling the keys lightly in his hand.

"What about you?" Sam asked around his toothbrush.

"The hotel clerk told me the police station is on the far side of town, about three miles or so down the road. Pretty much anything I need is within walking distance of here. Oh, and make sure you check your phone periodically; clerk said reception can be somewhat tricky out here."

"Yes, dad," Sam replied, spitting his toothpaste into the sink. Almost immediately his face paled, his eyes flying up in the mirror to meet Dean's gaze, his features anxious.

Dean met his brother's eyes in the mirror, his expression carefully neutral. He wondered idly if there would ever be a time when he and Sam could talk about their father without feeling the awkward need to tread carefully. "Bout ready to go, pretty boy?" he asked, raising the hand holding the keys to the Impala.

Sam wiped his mouth on a towel, then turned and reached for the key. "Ready," he replied. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

The 'Brown Bear Bar and Grill' was just like the hundreds of other restaurant/bar combinations Dean had been in throughout his life. As he stepped through the heavy wooden front doors, his nose was assaulted with the combined scent of greasy food, tobacco, and alcohol, the fragrances so much a part of the grill that they were ingrained in the very wood of the building. The smell was a familiar one to Dean, and his body relaxed slightly without him even being aware of it. Besides the Impala, this type of place was where Dean felt most comfortable. There was something about the atmosphere of a Bar and Grill that put him instantly at ease. Perhaps it was the lack of pretense he always found in these places. Here, he could just be _Dean_, because nobody knew or cared what that meant.

Dean's eyes scanned the Grill, mapping its layout. The bar was directly in front of him, an impressive array of bottles lining the tall shelf along the back wall. A waist high counter ran the length of the bar, with stools placed intermittently down its length. Surrounding the bar area were around a dozen square tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths. An old wooden jukebox stood silently in one corner, and a worn pool table stood sentry on a raised platform at the very back of the building. A single set of swinging doors at the far right of the bar's counter led into what he presumed would be the grill's kitchen.

His entrance into the room had been announced by a small set of bells hanging over the doors, and within seconds he was approached by a young waitress holding a stack of menus. She smiled sweetly at him and gestured toward the tables. "Take your pick," she directed. "As you can see, we're not exactly busy."

Dean returned the waitress' smile. She was cute, with a full, curvy figure, red brown hair, green eyes, and a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. "Well, it's early yet," he replied. "Give it a few hours and I'm sure business will pick up."

The waitress rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. Come back around five and you'll see how busy this place can get."

Dean flashed her his most charming smile. "Well, since you've given me a personal invitation, I just might have to do that." He was rewarded with her small blush.

"Are you looking for a late breakfast or an early lunch?" she asked, shuffling self-consciously through the stack of menus in her hand.

"Just a coffee for starts," Dean stated. "And maybe a little bit of information about the area if you can spare a minute or two?"

"I'll see what I can do," she said with a shy smile before turning and disappearing back through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

Dean moved to sit at the table next to the Grill's single window, his gaze perusing the street outside until the waitress returned with his coffee. She placed the cup in front of him, then turned and rested her hip against the edge of his table, her eyes appraising him. "So, what brings you to our tiny little town?" she asked, her expression curious.

Dean smiled up at her lazily, lifting his coffee mug and taking a small sip, his eyes never leaving her face. "Who says I'm not from around here?"

The waitress threw back her head and laughed. "Honey, I've lived in this town for ten years, and in case you haven't noticed, it's not all that big. I know who's from around here and who's not."

Dean conceded the point with a grin and a shrug.

"My name's Annie, by the way," she said, raising her chin in a quick gesture of greeting.

"Dean," he responded, returning the gesture. "And in answer to your question, I'm just passing through. Actually," he admitted "I'm kinda looking for a nice place to go hiking, and a friend of mine recommended this area. What do you think? You guys get many hikers around here."

"Oh sure," Annie shrugged. "This area of the Ozarks always attracts hiker enthusiasts. The terrain offers a real challenge, and it's some of the prettiest country around." She paused, eyeing him up and down, taking in his torn blue jeans and brown work boots. "I wouldn't recommend it to just anyone, though" she continued. "This area can be pretty dangerous."

Dean leaned forward, his hands wrapping around his coffee cup. "What do you mean, dangerous?" He asked. "Dangerous as in there's something lurking in the woods waiting to grab me if I stray too far from town?" His voice was light and teasing, as though his words were just a joke, but his eyes watched Annie's face intently, looking for any sign that his question had struck a nerve.

Annie frowned slightly, her hip shifting against the table as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Well, there _is_ a lot of wildlife in the area you have to watch out for, but mostly it's just easy to get yourself lost. If you're not prepared and you don't know what you're doing, you can get turned around fairly easily, and the wilderness around here goes on for hundreds of miles. Not to mention the terrain is pretty rough. You fall and break your leg, and there's no guarantee anyone will ever find you."

Dean shrugged. "The terrain I can handle," he said dismissively. "I'm more worried about running into Big Foot. You ever hear of any sightings of strange things in the woods around this area?"

Annie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. "Hate to break it to you, buddy, but Big Foot is a myth," she said. "Big _bear,_ on the other hand, is very much real, and he will gobble you up before you can say 'Yogi'."

Dean let out a soft snort of laughter. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"You do that. I would hate for something to happen to that pretty face of yours." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Annie looked instantly mortified, her cheeks coloring a deep shade of pink.

Dean's smile turned a shade more predatory, and it was only with extreme effort that he reminded himself why he was here. Normally he would take Annie's comment as an invitation to take his flirting to the next level, but if all he had to offer his brother when Sam came back was the waitresses phone number, his brother would never let him hear the end of it. Reluctantly, he let her comment pass and focused on the task at hand. "I take it a place like this has plenty of legends and stories about things out there in the wild?" he asked casually. "You know, the kind of stories moms tell their children to scare them into obeying?"

Annie regarded him with a small smile. "You mean stories about the Boogie Man? Sorry, but he's just a myth as well." She cocked her head to one side before shrugging her shoulders slightly. "Honestly, there's enough _real_ creatures out there…some of them pretty scary…that I guess people don't really feel the need to make up fake ones."

Dean opened his mouth to ask Annie what her opinion was on all the missing hikers recently, but before he could speak the bells over the front door let out a loud jangle. A tall man dressed in cowboy boots, tight jeans and a red flannel shirt sauntered into the grill, his gaze sweeping the room until it came to rest on Dean and Annie. Annie quickly straightened from her slouch against Dean's table. "Excuse me," she said, flashing him a quick smile before striding across the room to greet the new arrival.

Dean watched her go, then turned his attention back to his coffee, raising the cup to his lips. If there were any local legends or superstitions surrounding this area, Annie would have known about them. One of the perks to working in a bar was that you basically knew everything about anything going on. It was one of the main reasons Dean had decided to start his search here. Yet so far, Annie hadn't revealed anything helpful. Dean sighed and ran a hand down over his face. He hoped Sam was having better luck than he was.

A shadow fell across the table and Dean looked up, surprised to find the man in the red flannel shirt standing a few feet away. The newcomer's hands were hooked in the loops of his belt, and his dark eyes were studying Dean with a strange intensity. "Hello," he said simply by way of greeting. "Annie was just telling me you're newly arrived in town and looking for some information on the area. Perhaps I can help."

Dean arched his eyebrows in surprise, somewhat taken off guard by the man's blunt approach. "Uhh," he stammered, his mind suddenly gone blank and feeling oddly uncomfortable under the stranger's intense gaze.

"My family has lived in this area for more than three generations," the man continued at Dean's hesitation. "I know these parts better than most. If you're looking for information on some good hiking trails, I can certainly point you in the right direction."

Dean blinked, trying to think fast. He had come to the grill to collect information, and here stood a man freely offering it. Yet for some strange reason he couldn't quite explain, he continued to hesitate. In the end, however, his need for more information outweighed his vague misgivings. It was a sad fact, but the way things were now, they could use all the help they could get.

He plastered a grateful smile on his face. "Sure, thanks" he replied, motioning the man toward the chair opposite him. He glanced around for Annie, but the waitress had disappeared back into the kitchen area. Turning his attention back to the stranger he offered his hand. "Name's Dean."

The stranger reached forward and took Dean's offered hand in a firm grip. "Ty," he supplied simply. "Ty Gallups."

Dean released Ty's hand, sitting back and lowering his chin, studying the man across the table from beneath hooded eyes. "I appreciate your offer of help, Ty," he stated sincerely. "Are you always this friendly to the poor, lost idiots who wander through your town?"

A small half smile turned up one corner of Ty's lips. "On occasion," he replied simply.

Annie appeared suddenly beside their table, two beers held in her hand. She placed one in front of Ty and the other before Dean. At Dean's surprised look, Ty spoke up. "It's on me. Hope you don't mind?"

Dean arched one eyebrow, then gave a small shrug and reached for the beer. "Never been one to turn down a free drink," he replied, tipping the bottle in Ty's direction in a salute of thanks.

Ty nodded. "Good. Never did trust a man who wouldn't drink a good beer with me."

Dean let out a small huff of laughter. "Well, I can drink to that."

Ty lifted his bottle and took a deep swallow before fixing Dean with a penetrating stare. "So, hope you don't mind me being blunt, but you don't look much like the hiker type to me?"

Dean shrugged, meeting the other man's gaze with his own. "You can say it's kinda an on-again off-again hobby of mine." He didn't elaborate, years of hunting having taught him that the best cover stories were the ones kept simple.

Ty regarded him a moment before giving a barely perceptible nod. "So, is this a quick trip or are you planning on hanging around for a while?"

"Booked the hotel for a week," Dean replied, lifting his beer and taking a quick swallow. A ghost of a smile flashed across Ty's face, there and gone in the space of a heartbeat, leaving Dean wondering if he had imagined it. "So what about you?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from himself. "Lived here your whole life, have you? Must have been somewhat boring, growing up in such a small town."

Ty lifted his beer and slowly tilted the bottle left and right, sloshing the liquid in a gentle circle. "It's not too bad." He shrugged "This town can offer plenty of entertainment if you know where to look for it." Once again the ghost of a smile flashed across his face and was gone.

"So tell me about the trails around here," Dean requested, wanting to get down to business. "How many are there? Any that are considered more dangerous than others?"

"There's about a dozen or so trails just in and around Denton," Ty responded, "Even more if you go further out. Each trail varies in difficulty, but they all can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. Hikers have been known to stray from the trails and get lost, and some are never found again."

_Tell me about it_, Dean thought sourly.

Ty suddenly straightened, peering at Dean intently. "Hey, I have a map out in my truck that details the local hiking trails. You might find it useful. I can let you take a look at it if you would like?"

Dean paused with his beer lifted halfway to his lips, an interested expression on his face. He knew it was only a matter of time before he and Sam found themselves traipsing through the wilderness in search of whatever was causing the hikers to go missing. When that time came, a detailed map of the trails would be extremely handy. He had grabbed a pamphlet from the hotel lobby that had a map of the area surrounding Denton, but it hadn't included the trails and was far from detailed. "That would be great," he replied, grateful that he would have at least _something_ to offer his brother when Sam returned.

"Come on, then," Ty stated, rising from the table with his beer still in his hand. He nodded toward Annie who was over at the bar sorting through liquor bottles. "Put these on my tab, Annie?" he called, already heading toward the door.

Dean quickly rose to follow, digging in his pockets for some change to pay for his coffee. Annie saw him and quickly shook her head. "Coffee's on the house this morning," she called. "Just come on back tonight like you said."

"Definitely," Dean responded, throwing her a quick wink and smiling as she blushed. Perhaps this trip wouldn't be _all _bad.

He followed Ty out of the Grill and down the street, surprised when the man turned into the small alley next to the restaurant. Dean could see a giant black truck parked halfway down the narrow lane.

"Nice wheels," he commented as they reached the truck, and Ty flashed him a quick smile as he pulled open the passenger side door. Reaching in, he ruffled around the glove box for a moment before pulling out a folded piece of paper. Moving to the hood of the truck, he began unfolding the paper and spreading it out.

Dean took a step closer, leaning over to inspect the map. A few moments later he let out a small whistle, impressed with the quality and detail in the map. Small red X's clearly marked the trailheads of a dozen hiking paths, and information regarding the length and difficulty of each individual trail was contained in a small box at the base of the map. "This is perfect," he muttered.

As he leaned closer to read the tiny print on the map, he suddenly felt a sharp sting on the side of his neck. Jerking in surprise, he swung around, his eyes widening as he saw Ty taking a small step back, an empty syringe held in one hand. "What the…" he began, but he never managed to finish the sentence. Whatever Ty had injected him with, it worked fast. His vision began to fold in on itself and a strange roaring filled his ears. He took a stumbling step forward, then felt the world tip.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

Sam shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic chair in the police station's small waiting room, glancing at the clock on the wall for the fifth time in just as many minutes. He had already shuffled through the small stack of magazines on the small table next to his chair, but nothing had really caught his interest. When he had arrived at the station half an hour earlier, the receptionist had informed him that the sheriff was on an important phone conferencing call and wouldn't immediately be available. She had offered to make him an appointment, but Sam had opted instead to wait.

Of course, that was before he had discovered how uncomfortable the chairs were, and how outdated the magazines. He was starting to long for the laptop he had left behind at the hotel. Reviewing the missing person's reports on the lost hikers would have at least been more productive than sitting here twiddling his thumbs.

"Henry Falco?" Sam's head jerked up at the sound of his assumed name. He rose to his feet and walked quickly over to the receptionist's desk. "Sheriff Rawly has just finished with his call and will see you now," she informed him, gesturing with one overly-manicured hand to the door sitting directly behind her desk. The stenciled word SHERIFF was displayed across the glass paneling on the door.

"Thank you," Sam told her gratefully, moving around the desk to knock softly on the glass panel. Hearing a faint call to come in, he opened the door and stepped into the sheriff's office, slightly surprised to find the room was only marginally larger than the waiting room outside. Sheriff Rawly was seated behind a large oak desk on the far side of the room, his eyes on a stack of papers sitting in front of him. He was a man of moderate build with narrow, pale features and a healthy spattering of gray through his trim brown hair.

Sam had almost finished crossing the room before the Sheriff glanced up at him, his expression impassive. "Sorry to keep you waiting, son." His tone was brisk and clipped, with no hint of the apology he was stating. "What can I do for you?"

Sam cleared his throat and took another step closer to the desk, reaching out and offering the Sheriff the fake ID Dean had given him earlier in the hotel. "My name's Henry Falco," he stated as the Sheriff reluctantly took the card and glanced at it. "I'm a private investigator based out of Jonesboro."

"Mmm hmm," Rawly murmured, looking at Sam from underneath heavy brows. "And what brings you to Denton, Mr. Falco?"

"I'm here on behalf of the family of Michael Ryan," Sam stated succinctly, not missing the fact that Sheriff Rawly had yet to invite him to be seated in one of the two chairs placed in front of the desk.

Rawly's eyebrows arched in apparent surprise. "The missing hiker?"

Sam nodded. "I was just hoping to ask you a few questions regarding the investigation into Michael's disappearance, if that's alright with you?"

The Sheriff frowned, the fingers of one hand tapping an impatient rhythm at the corner of his desk. Finally he gave a stiff nod, indicating with one hand that Sam should take a seat. Leaning back in his chair he steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "What is it you would like to know?" he asked simply.

Sitting on the very edge of the chair, Sam gave the man a grateful nod. "It is my understanding that your office was working in conjunction with the state wildlife department during the search for Michael. Is that correct?"

Sheriff Rawly shrugged. "Yeah, that's right."

"How many days was Michael missing before your department was notified and began the search for him?" Sam asked.

"As best we can tell, he was missing for three days before the clerk at the hotel reported he hadn't been back to his room for a while." Sheriff Rawly leaned forward in his chair, staring hard at Sam. "I believe all this information was in the official report we filed with the state. As the family's personal investigator, I am sure you are familiar with the report, Mr. Falco?"

Sam nodded hastily before offering an apologetic smile. "Just trying to verify my facts," he said quickly. "The search for Mr. Ryan was officially called off two weeks ago, right?"

"Yes," Rawly verified. "By that point in time the wildlife department and this office felt as though there was no real hope of finding Mr. Ryan. We were using up valuable time and resources that were needed elsewhere."

"Of course," Sam smiled understandingly. "During your search for Mr. Ryan, did you ever come across anything strange?"

When Rawly frowned at him, Sam hurried to elaborate. "For instance, unidentified markings or tracks, or perhaps signs of struggle…" The sheriff was already shaking his head, his expression impatient, but Sam pushed on. "What about unfamiliar smells, or maybe areas that seemed unnaturally cold?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" the sheriff growled. "There was nothing unusual. Just exactly what is your purpose here, Mr. Falco?"

"The family just wanted me to double check that all possible explanations for Mr. Ryan's disappearance were investigated, that's all." Sam tried to give the Sheriff a reassuring smile, but the man was having none of it.

"All possible explanations?" Rawly growled, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Sam sourly. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Michael Ryan got himself lost while hiking in the wilderness, and that's it. Tragic, but it happens."

"Michael's family described him as an experienced and skilled hiker," Sam pointed out. "They seemed to think it unlikely he would have gotten himself lost and…"

Rawly let out a small snort, cutting Sam off mid-sentence. "Just because you're experienced doesn't mean you don't make mistakes," the sheriff stated impatiently. "He could have injured himself or had a run-in with a wild animal. We'll probably never know."

Sam realized he was getting nowhere with his present line of questioning and decided to switch focus. "Mr. Ryan wasn't the first hiker to disappear in this area recently, was he?" he asked, watching the sheriff's face closely. "There have been several other missing hikers as well, and none of _them_ were ever found either. Seems a little strange, doesn't it?"

"Not strange at all," Rawly argued. "I take it you're not familiar with this area, Mr. Falco. It's some of the roughest and most isolated territory in the Ozarks. Every now and then hikers get adventurous and decide to venture from the trails, underestimating how easy it is to get lost out there. Some of them manage to find their way out, or sometimes we're able to find them, but it's unavoidable that some don't make it. Just the way it goes."

"But why haven't any of their bodies been found?" Sam pressed, knowing he was probably pushing his luck, but still needing more information. The last thing he wanted to do was face his brother and tell him this whole meeting had been a bust. There had to be some tidbit of information they were missing that would set them in the right direction, he just had to dig deep enough and find it.

"You're not listening to what I'm telling you, kid." Sheriff Rawly's voice was adamant. "These are the _wilds_ we're talking about. Who knows how far away they could have wandered trying to find their way out. Animals could have gotten hold of the corpses and dragged them god know where, or they could have been swept away by one of the many rivers in the area. The truth is, we just don't have the resources to scour every inch of this territory. Those bodies will probably never be found."

Sam accepted the information with a nod and a small frown. The Sheriff's explanations sounded convincing, but there were still far too many unexplained factors for him to accept the possibility that this might be a bum hunt. From the moment Bobby had told him about this case, his instincts had told him something was not right, and as an experienced hunter he had long ago learned to trust his instincts. He briefly considered questioning Rawly about the fact that all the victims were young men, or perhaps point out the annual nature of the disappearances, but he could sense the man's rising annoyance, and getting himself thrown out of the station would accomplish nothing.

"Do you know which trail Michael was on when he disappeared?" Sam asked. It was looking more and more likely that he and his brother would be taking a hike of their own into the wilderness, and he wanted to be able to narrow their search area down as much as possible.

Sheriff Rawly didn't answer right away, but merely looked at Sam, his lips pursing in and out. It looked as though he was debating something. Sam remained silent, hoping that the sheriff would continue to cooperate. The seconds stretched on, and Sam shifted his weight on the edge of the chair, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable under the sheriff's unnerving scrutiny. Finally Rawly seemed to come to some sort of decision. "Cold creek trail." He said simply. "His car was found near the trailhead to cold creek trail."

Sam nodded his thanks. "Any way you could point me in that direction?"

"I'll do you one better, kid," Rawly said, pushing himself to his feet. "The trailhead is about ten miles north of town. If you don't mind taking a short drive, I can show you right to it."

Sam was surprised by the offer. A few moments before he had felt certain the sheriff was about to throw him out of the office. "Uh, thanks," he said slowly, "but you really don't have to do that. If you could just point it out on a map…"

"Nonsense," Rawly replied shortly. "The trail head isn't marked and can be difficult to spot, even if you know where to look. I can see you are determined to poke your nose into this one, and the last thing I need is some inexperienced city-boy bumbling around the wilderness getting himself lost. Besides, my deputy and I were going to head out that direction this morning anyway to check on some reports of damaged guard rails."

Sam swallowed the annoyance he felt at the sheriff's insulting tone. Knowing the exact location of the trailhead would undoubtedly come in handy, and he wanted to have _something_ useful to bring back to his brother. He could only hope that Dean had had better luck in digging up information than he had. He forced a smile. "Okay, sure; appreciate the help."

Rawly reached for the phone on his desk and hit a button before pulling the receiver up to his ear. "Lindsey," he barked into the mouthpiece, "Have David bring the squad car to the front of the building"

Sam wanted to take the Impala and follow Sheriff Rawly up to cold creek trail, but the sheriff waved away his suggestion and insisted that Sam ride in the squad car with him and his deputy. Sam reluctantly consented, but after being seated in the back of the police car and facing two doors with no handles and a heavy metal grill separating him from the front seat, he was beginning to rethink the wisdom of his decision. He knew Dean would call him nine kinds of stupid for putting himself in this situation, and he could only hope that his brother wouldn't turn out to be right. It wasn't that he had any real reason to distrust Sheriff Rawly, but any situation that left him trapped and helpless was less than ideal.

As they pulled from the police station's parking lot and headed south out of town, Sam fished his phone from his pocket, intending to send his brother a text to let him know where he was heading. Just in case. The display across the front of his phone notified him that he was in a "no service" area, and he put it away with a small sigh.

Glancing forward through the metal grill he could make out the profile of Sheriff Rawly and his deputy, a sallow faced man Rawly had introduced as David Fuller. Neither man seemed interested in conversation, and Sam was just worried enough about his current position that he didn't feel particularly inclined to try and start one. He still intended to ask Sheriff Rawly about the locations the other hikers had disappeared from, but he figured his questions could wait until he was out of the claustrophobic confines of the car's mini prison.

The drive to the trailhead only lasted ten minutes, but by the time the Sheriff pulled off into a small dirt parking area to the side of the road, Sam felt as though he had been trapped in the car for an hour. He couldn't help but breathe a soft sigh of relief as Deputy Fuller pulled open his door, allowing him to spill from the stuffy confines of the car. Fuller gave him a nasty grin, his expression making it clear that he was all too aware of Sam's uneasiness.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Sam looked around him. They were parked in a small mountain outlook point. A steep, rocky incline towered at their back, while the view before them was one of sweeping hills and deep valleys, all heavily wooded. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and Sam instantly forgot about his discomfort as he took in several deep lungful's of fresh mountain air. The parking area where they stood was about twenty yards long and was surrounded by a short metal guardrail. On the other side of the guardrail, the ground sloped abruptly downward in a steep decline, the ground littered with rocks and boulders of varying sizes until, ten yards down, the tree line took over, obscuring the view of the base of the hill.

Sam walked over to the guardrail, casting a wary eye down the steep hill in front of him. He couldn't spot anything at all that looked like a trail in the heavy woods below him, but then, the sheriff _had_ told him the path was difficult to find. He turned to ask Rawly to point the trail out to him, and his eyes caught the flash of sunlight off the gun pointed straight at his chest.

"You chose the wrong time to come poking your nose around here, son," the sheriff said simply, his hand tightening on the gun's grip.

Sam froze, slowly lifting his hands and holding them out to either side. "Easy," he said softly, his eyes fixed to the cold steel of the gun barrel, making sure he made no sudden moves. "I don't know what this is about, but I'm sure we can…"

"I don't like having to do this," the sheriff interrupted, "but we can't afford to have you reopening the investigation now. I'm afraid you'll have to disappear."

At the softly spoken words, Sam's mind seemed to shut down and his body reacted purely on instinct. He threw himself to one side, straight toward the steep edge of the hill, the low guardrail catching him across his legs and sending him tumbling. At the same time, the loud report of the sheriff's gun echoed loudly in his ears, and sudden fiery pain blossomed high on his right arm.

Sam couldn't stop the cry that tore from his lungs, and then the world was tumbling sideways and he was falling.

* * *

**A/N**—_Okay, so I wrote and re-wrote this chapter so many times, I finally just had to post it as it is and move on. A little heavy on the dialogue, but don't worry, the action is on its way. And I can promise you, neither of the boys is in for a break anytime soon. *evil grin*_

_Let me know if you like. Constructive criticism is also welcome (thanks KHK __) _

_Thanks for those of you who took the time to review. I really appreciate it!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.

**Summary: **While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.

**A/N:** I have raised the rating on this story to T due to some graphic violence in upcoming chapters. Also, I have had this last week off from work, but will be returning next week, which means my updates may take a little longer. I will say though, there is nothing like reviews to encourage me to write faster. (Shameless beg, I know.) Enjoy…

**Chapter 3**

Awareness returned slowly to Dean, his body being rocked and shaken persistently into wakefulness. As his mind fought sluggishly to escape the darkness, he felt something cold and hard vibrating beneath him, bringing with it the sensation that he was moving. That sensation intensified a moment later when whatever he was resting on jerked and shuddered beneath him, causing his body to rock violently back and forth, the movement bringing him that much closer to full consciousness. A low, rumbling growl echoed in his ears, and his mind registered the sharp smell of diesel fuel along with an earthy, musty scent he associated with trees and the outdoors. Flashes of light and shadows alternated across his closed lids, taunting and luring him toward full awareness.

With a low moan, Dean forced his eyes open, blinking them several times to clear his vision. He had to squint against the sharp glare of the sun, the bright light filtering down to him through a canopy of tree branches slipping past above him. He swallowed hard, his tongue feeling heavy and dry in his mouth, as though he had been chewing on cotton. A dull ache throbbed at his temples, the pain accentuated with every bump and shudder beneath him, and without thinking he tried to raise his hands to rub at the niggling pain. It was then that he realized his hands were bound, several coils of rope looped securely around his wrists and tied off with a tight looking knot. An experimental flex of his legs told him his ankles were similarly bound.

_What the hell?_

Rolling his head carefully to one side he could make out black metal and what appeared to be a wheel well. Suddenly, the rumbling growl he was hearing registered in his brain as an engine, and he realized he was lying in the bed of a truck. From the jostling and shaking going on beneath him, he guessed the truck was traveling down a rough dirt road.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to force his fuzzy brain into remembering exactly how he had gotten here. He had a vague recollection of waking up in the hotel, talking to Sam, and then walking to the local bar and grill. An image suddenly flashed through his mind of a tall man dressed in a red flannel shirt standing next to a large black truck, the man's hand tightly gripping an empty syringe. Dean's eyes flashed open as his memory returned to him with force. _What did that bastard _do_ to me_? he wondered grimly. With a small growl, he flexed his muscles, testing the strength of the ropes holding him. He didn't know what was going on; where he was being taken, or for what reason, but he figured he could figure those details out _after_ he had managed to escape.

Closing his eyes again and taking a steadying breath, Dean slowly turned onto his side and began drawing his bound legs up toward his chest, praying fervently that his captor would be too busy watching the road to notice his movements in the back. Pulling his knees into his stomach, he reached down with his bound hands and felt the knot securing his ankles. It was tight, and he began pulling and prying at the stiff material of the rope, trying to work his bindings loose. His back and shoulders ached with the effort of holding his awkward position, and every time the truck bounced over a rough section of road, his body was slammed painfully into the cold metal of the truck bed. Still, he managed to ignore his discomfort, and several minutes later he was rewarded by the sudden slack in the rope that signified his ankles' freedom.

Just as he was pulling the rope from around his feet, he felt a change in the movement of the truck beneath him. The vehicle began to slow, and glancing quickly around, Dean noticed that the trees…which had closed in heavily around the truck moments before…were beginning to thin. The front of the truck angled upward slightly, and Dean felt himself beginning to slide slowly toward the tailgate. A moment later, the last of the trees disappeared from view overhead as the truck entered what Dean could only assume was a clearing. The truck was slowing even further, and Dean's heart rate kicked up a notch as he realized he needed to make his move. His hands were still bound, but he knew it was now or never. His best chance lay in the cover of the woods, and he knew he had to act quickly or he would be caught in the open. He needed the protection and cover of the trees if he was going to have any chance at successfully escaping.

Even as his body tensed to make his move, Dean felt the truck shudder and pull to a stop, Ty's voice ringing out from the cab. "Hey, Ted! Jenson! Get over here and give me a hand, boys. I brought in another one."

Dean froze for a moment at Ty's call, his heart sinking slightly as he realized there were at least two other people close by. With a quick tightening of his abdominal muscles, he pulled himself into a sitting position, not bothering to glance toward the front of the truck to see if anyone was looking in his direction. Swiftly rolling to his knees, he launched himself at the side of the truck, his bound hands catching the edge and stabilizing his weight as he swung his legs up and over. Twisting his body, he landed with cat like grace, glanced around quickly to orient himself, then took off at a dead run toward the nearest section of trees, his bound hands tucked tightly against his stomach.

Almost immediately cries of alarm rose up behind him. "GET HIM!" he heard Ty scream, followed by shouted order for him to stop. Dean never looked back, focused on pushing every ounce of speed from his body he could muster. A moment later he reached the tree line and plunged into the welcoming shadows of the woods. Using his bound hands to help steady him, he charged through the trees, careening around trunks and ducking under low hanging branches, putting as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuers. He could hear heavy footsteps and harsh breathing echoing through the woods behind him, but he didn't dare glance back, afraid a single misstep would send him crashing to the ground. The land in front of him began to slope downward, and it was all Dean could do to keep his balance while maintaining his speed.

He wasn't sure for how long he ran, but soon his breath was coming in harsh pants, and a sharp pain was making itself known along his rib cage. The deeper into the heavy woods he went, the more branches seemed to appear in front of him, reaching out and snagging at his clothes, their bark covered hands seeming intent on slowing him down. Dean brushed past them without hesitating, ignoring the occasional sting as the wood scraped at the bare skin of his hands, neck and face. He could still hear his pursuers, but it seemed as though the sounds were falling further and further behind, and he let himself a bare moment of hope that he might make good his escape.

Suddenly, a dog's angry howl echoed from the trees behind him, the sound making Dean's blood run cold and dashing his brief hope. The howl repeated, closer now, and Dean recognized the baying call of a dog on the hunt; a dog who had caught the scent of its prey and was closing in for the takedown. For the first time, Dean felt his steps falter as fear clenched at his belly. He began looking around desperately for some sort of weapon, his eyes falling across a heavy branch lying several yards away. The dog let out another howl, the sound so close Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He stumbled toward the branch, reaching down to grip the thick limb in his bound hands. As he straightened, the black form of the dog burst through the thick trees several yards to his right. He barely had time to turn his body to face the animal before the dog launched itself at him, teeth bared in a rictus snarl.

Dean stumbled back and attempted to swing the heavy branch at the dog's head, but the animal dodged the blow with graceful ease, and then it was on him, its heavy weight slamming into him with tremendous force. Dean went down hard, dropping the branch and crying out in pain as the dog's jaws closed down on his upper arm with unbelievable force. He could feel the animals teeth pierce clear through his heavy blue jacket and grey undershirt to dig deeply into the soft flesh of his upper arm and shoulder. It felt as though his arm had been closed in an iron vice, and when the dog began to growl and shake its head back and forth, Dean felt as if his shoulder was about to be torn from its' socket. He set his jaw to keep from crying out, but couldn't stop the low moan of pain that escaped through his clenched teeth.

"There they are!" The call sounded from the trees somewhere to Dean's right, and he could hear heavy footsteps crashing through the leaves and underbrush as his pursuers raced toward him. "Rocky's got him. Good boy, Rocky, good boy!"

Dean groaned and tried to lie as still as possible, knowing instinctively that any movement on his part would merely trigger more aggression from the dog. Rolling his head slowly to one side, he saw several men approaching through the trees, hunting rifles gripped in their hands. One of the men carried a leash, and as he reached Dean and the dog, he stepped forward and grabbed the animal's collar.

"Release, Rocky," he ordered abruptly. "Release! That's a good dog."

The vice like pressure on his arm suddenly vanished, and Dean couldn't stop his moan of relief. His arm and shoulder ached fiercely, and he could feel the wet stickiness of blood beneath his shirt from where the dog's jaws had punctured through his skin. He closed his eyes and took in deep lungful's of air, trying to catch his breath and calm the frantic beating of his heart.

"Get him up." Dean's eyes snapped open at the command and he saw Ty standing above him, his expression unreadable as he stared down at Dean's prone form. Two men stepped forward, shifting their guns into the crooks of their elbows so they could bend down and grab Dean's arms and haul him to his feet. Even after he was upright, their hands continued to grip his arms tightly. Of to one side, Rocky growled and strained at his leash.

Dean took a deep breath and met Ty's gaze, his expression challenging. Ty regarded him with a slightly curious look, his head cocked to one side as though Dean were an interesting puzzle he was trying to figure out. "Nice move back there," he finally spoke, a small half grin lifting one corner of his mouth. "I thought you were still out of it." His gaze flickered to the men standing on either side of Dean. "Looks like we've got a real fighter on our hands boys."

The men chuckled at Ty's statement, as though they were sharing in some private joke.

Dean glared at Ty, his hands balling into fists beneath his bound wrists. "Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?" he demanded.

Ty didn't answer but merely shook his head and motioned to his companions. "Let's get him back to camp," he ordered simply, before turning and beginning to march back the way he had come. The men holding Dean's arms began to pull him forward, and he had no choice but to follow behind Ty's retreating form, very much aware of the still growling dog trailing behind him.

The trip back up to the clearing took nearly fifteen minutes, and Dean found himself amazed at how far he had managed to run. If it weren't for the dog, he probably would have been able to make good his escape.

When they finally stepped from the forest's edge, Dean got his first look at his captor's camp. The clearing was roughly the size and shape of a professional football field, something about its look giving Dean the distinct impression that it was man-made rather than natural. One side of the field was occupied by a small array of tents and a single open pavilion, while the other side held a long row of metal cages. A small arena sat at the center of the field, with two large metal bleachers flanking it on either side.

Not surprisingly, it was in the direction of the metal cages that Ty led them. There were eight cages in total, all of them spaced evenly down the side of the field, with perhaps twenty feet separating each. The cages looked to be about ten feet by ten feet, with a wooden floor and thick metal bars. A thin piece of plywood lay across the top of each cage, presumably to offer some sort of protection from the elements. Small wooden signs hung from the front of the enclosures, a single number painted across the surface. The cages were bare of any furnishings save for a thin mattress and small pile of blankets.

As Dean approached, he saw that all the cages save one were occupied, the prisoners within dressed in the same outfit comprised of black sweat pants, grey shirts and heavy blue jackets. As he was marched past the first cage, the man inside moved to the front of his tiny cell, his hands gripping the bars of his prison as he watched Dean and his guards move past. Dean was struck by the hopeless expression on the man's bearded face.

The next cage was occupied by a tall, heavily muscled black man. The man was seated in the center of his cage, his legs crossed and his arms resting casually across his knees. He was staring straight ahead of him, and he never moved or blinked as Dean and his entourage marched by.

The third cage was empty, its' heavy metal door standing open. Ty stopped in front of the cage. "Cut him loose," he ordered briskly. Both of Dean's guards released his arms, one of them pulling a long, sharp looking knife from a sheath at his belt, while the other took a step back and aimed the barrel of his rifle at Dean's back. Dean stood perfectly still as the first guard sawed at the ropes binding him. A moment later he was free, his hands gently massaging his sore wrists.

Ty motioned Dean forward with a grand sweep of one arm, while at the same moment the second guard gave him a sharp prod in the back with the barrel of his gun. Clenching his jaw, Dean ducked down and entered the cage, the heavy metal door swinging shut immediately on his heels. He heard the sharp metal click of the door's lock as he turned back around to face his captors.

"Hope you like your new accommodations," Ty commented, watching Dean closely, the annoying half smile once again tipping up one corner of his lips.

Dean kept his face carefully neutral as he glanced around the small confines of his cage, then gave a slight shrug, ignoring the sharp ache the small movement ignited in his right shoulder. "I'm not sure I would give it five stars," he commented nonchalantly, "but at least the bed looks comfy. Hopefully the room service doesn't suck."

Ty let out a small bark of a laugh, shaking his head and sharing a look with the other guards. "What I tell you, boys? We got ourselves a real lively one here." He turned back to Dean. "I need to go now, but I'll be back later and we'll have ourselves a nice chat. In the meantime…enjoy your stay." His grin was mocking. Dean flashed a one fingered reply, at which Ty only laughed harder before turning and walking away, his guards till flanking him.

Dean waited until they were gone before quickly but thoroughly checking all his pockets. Just as he had suspected, his phone, hotel room keys, and wallet were all missing. He could already tell from the extra roomy feel in his right boot that his hidden sheath and knife were also gone. He hadn't really held much hope, but he still felt the cold pang of disappointment. He hated being trapped and helpless.

Glancing to the occupants of the cages on either side of him, Dean noted that the black man hadn't moved from his seated vigil and the prisoner on his right seemed to be taking a nap, curled up on his thin mattress with his back to Dean. Shaking his head, Dean moved slowly and methodically around the perimeter of his tiny prison, his eyes searching carefully for any sign of damage or defect that might offer even a slim chance at escape. He found nothing. The cage was simple, but well made.

With a sigh, Dean sank down to sit on the edge of his thin mattress. With a small grimace, he carefully shrugged his right arm free of his jacket sleeve and glanced down at his shoulder. His shirt was torn and stained with blood, and he couldn't stop the wince of discomfort as he reached down with his left hand and peeled the material away from the injury. He could see two puncture wounds on the front of his shoulder and top of his arm, but they didn't appear too deep and had already stopped bleeding. It was the stiffness and bruising that caused him the most concern. He had little doubt that by morning he would have difficulty even raising that arm.

_That dog had one hell of a bite! _He thought ruefully, lowering his shirt and gingerly slipping back into his jacket. He leaned his head back against the bars of his cage, his right hand cradled in his lap as his mind reviewed everything that had happened to him. He wondered vaguely if Sam had realized he was missing yet. Knowing Sam, his brother would go crazy with worry once he realized Dean was gone. It was only a matter of time before his brother began to search for him. Dean had no way of knowing where he was or how far out of town he had been taken, but he had faith that his brother would find some way of locating him. Sam was nothing if not resourceful; and stubborn…he would not give up until Dean was found.

Of course, Dean had no intention of sitting quietly and waiting for his brother to come to the rescue. He would remain alert and watchful for any opportunity that presented itself for escape. In the meantime, he would try to gather as much information as possible on his captors and their plans for him and the other prisoners. He felt fairly certain that the men in the other cages were none other than the missing hikers that had drawn him and his brother to Denton in the first place. It was the only thing that made sense, and both of the men Dean had seen in the first two cages matched physical descriptions he had read while reviewing the missing persons' reports.

Still, knowing who the other prisoners were did not answer the question of _why_ they had been taken; why _he_ had been taken? What was Ty's plans for them? All of these were questions that Dean hoped he would be able to find answer to.

Suddenly, Dean felt overwhelmed with a sense of weariness. Maybe it was an aftereffect of the drug Ty had given him, or maybe it stemmed from his mad dash through the woods, but for whatever reason he felt his lids growing steadily heavier. The afternoon sun was warm as it drifted through the bars of his cage, and the steady chatter of birds from the nearby woods was hypnotic. Finally giving in to the inevitable, he allowed his eyelids to slide shut, his mind to go blank.

If he had known that at that very moment his brother was struggling for his life, he never would have been able to drift into the blessed oblivion of sleep.

* * *

Sam was in trouble.

The realization hit him somewhere between the moment Sheriff Rawly's bullet tore through his arm and his uncontrolled tumble over the ledge and down the steep hill. He only had time for a single, sharp cry before he was falling, his body plummeting wildly down the slope, his vision a disoriented blur of earth and sky. He desperately tried to bring his arms up to protect his head, but it was almost as though his limbs were no longer his to control. He felt like a helpless puppet in the hands of an overenthusiastic child, bouncing and tumbling his way down the steep incline without any hope of stopping his fall.

Then, just when he felt certain he was about to break his neck, his descent was brought to a sudden and violent stop as his body slammed into the narrow trunk of a tree. All air left his lungs in an agonized whoosh, and an explosion of black dots blanketed his vision. For a moment, his body forgot how to breathe, and the cold fingers of unconsciousness closed in on him.

It was the loud crack of a gun from somewhere above him, combined with the loud _thunk_ of wood being struck by a bullet somewhere very near his head, that served to drive him back to his senses. Gasping, he pulled in several deep lungful's of air, reaching out a shaking hand and grabbing the tree into which he had fallen, using it as leverage as he forced his body into a more upright position. Everything hurt abominably, the most intense pain seeming to radiate from his right arm and the left portion of his chest. He had no time to cater to his body's aches and complaints, however. A quick glance up the hill showed both Sheriff Rawly and Deputy Fuller stepping over the guard-rail at the crest of the hill and moving cautiously forward to the very edge of the drop off, their guns already rising to point with deadly promise down the hill toward where Sam sat, exposed and vulnerable.

With a muffled groan, Sam flung himself around the base of the tree, knowing the thin trunk would offer him only marginal protection. Gritting his teeth and mentally swearing to make his brother proud, he began to half slide, half skid down the hill, trying to keep his body as small as possible so as to offer less of a target to the two men above him. He couldn't stop the flinch that jerked his body at the sharp report of gunfire echoing once again from behind and above him. He heard the bullet slam into the undergrowth a few feet ahead of him.

Desperation lending him strength, Sam threw caution to the wind and hurtled down the steep slope of the hill, his right arm pressed tightly against his stomach, his left arm reaching out to balance himself against the rough trunks of the trees he passed. He purposefully began angling his descent to one side, hoping it would help put more trees between him and his pursuers. The tactic must have worked, because no more gunshots rang out after him.

After what seemed like ages, the steep descent of the hill gradually began to level out, the trees growing even thicker, their heavy branches casting heavy patterns of shadow and light across the uneven ground. Once on more level ground, Sam was able to use his long legs to his advantage, setting a ground eating pace that quickly left all sounds of pursuit behind him.

Still, his battered and bleeding body could not keep up the fast pace for long, and soon he found his steps beginning to falter. He was gasping for breath, every lungful of air causing the ribs on his left side to ache and throb. His head was pounding, and he could feel the wet and sticky warmth of blood soaking through the fabric of his shirt on his right arm. Pausing for a moment in an attempt to catch his breath, he leaned against the rough trunk of a large oak, listening intently for the sounds of pursuit and only hearing the wild hammering of his own heart.

The woods seemed eerily quiet, but Sam did not allow that fact to lure him into a false sense of security. He knew Rawly and his deputy were back there somewhere, hunting him. There was no way they could afford to allow him to escape, not after attempting to shoot him in cold blood. They probably knew that he was hurt, which meant they were simply taking their time, hunting him down slowly and methodically, waiting for him to collapse or make some other error that would play him right into their hands.

But they didn't know who they were dealing with. He was John Winchester's son, and it didn't matter how badly he was injured or how tired he felt, he would not be easy prey. His father had taught him how to survive in situations like this, and though when he was younger he had hated their annual forays into the wilderness for "survival" training, he was now extremely grateful that his father had insisted on it.

Glancing down at his right arm, Sam grimaced at the deep gash cutting across the top of his bicep. The bullet had only grazed him, but the cut was deep and was bleeding heavily. The sleeve of his shirt was now completely soaked in blood. He knew he needed to find some way to get the bleeding under control. Heavy blood loss would quickly rob him of much needed strength, and if let go long enough, would eventually render him unconscious. Not to mention, the blood dripping steadily from his fingers would leave a trail that his adversaries could potentially find and follow.

Making use of a small tear near the bottom of his shirt…attained thanks to his wild fall down the hill…Sam used his left arm to rip away a long strip of material. It was awkward going, tying the fabric around his upper arm using his left hand, but he somehow managed the job, hissing in pain as he pulled the makeshift bandage as tight as possible around the deep gash. When he had finally finished, he was pale and trembling, leaning heavily against the support of the tree and trying to take deep, even breaths to still his pain induced nausea.

He knew he needed to keep moving; needed to put as much distance as possible between himself and his pursuers. Clenching his jaw in stubborn determination against the pain in his body, Sam pushed himself away from the support of the tree and began moving forward once more, his focus on putting one step in front of the other. He couldn't help but wish for his comfortable work boots instead of the black loafers he had chosen to wear with his slacks. The shoes were definitely not designed for traipsing around in the countryside, and he had to watch his every step lest he tumble face first to the ground.

For nearly a half hour he pushed himself forward, slowly angling his path in a northerly direction, back toward town. With every minute that passed, the pain of his body became steadily harder and harder to ignore. The adrenaline of his frantic escape was slowly wearing off, leaving him feeling exhausted and drained. Yet he refused to give in to his body's request for rest, knowing the result could be catastrophic.

In the end, however, the choice was taken from his hands. He wasn't sure if it was a partially hidden root tripping him up, or simply his body giving out on him, but quite suddenly he found himself face down in the dirt, a low moan of pain bubbling form his chest as his battered body was jarred even further. He couldn't believe the effort it took to simply roll from his stomach to his side, and he realized that he would be going no further until he allowed his body a few brief moments of rest.

Glancing slowly around him, he quickly made out a large tree several yards to his left. Taking a deep breath and rallying what little strength remained him, he pushed himself upright and stumbled toward the tree. Collapsing against the thick trunk, he leaned his head back against the rough bark and allowed his eyes to slide closed. _Just a few minutes_, he thought tiredly. _I just need a few minutes to rest and get back some strength._

It was the voices that brought him back to awareness. Jerking upright from his slumped position against the tree, he immediately froze as the soft sound of footsteps and low voices drifted to him from somewhere behind and to his right. He realized somewhat belatedly that he must have passed out, and judging from the angle of the light drifting down through the trees above, he had been out for nearly an hour. He blinked his eyes several times, trying to clear the fuzziness in his brain, cursing himself for being so careless.

His heart began to hammer wildly in his chest, and he had to focus to keep his breathing calm and silent. How could he have been so stupid? Part of him knew that he hadn't had much choice, his body had simply given out on him, but it didn't make the taste of defeat any easier to swallow. He had been so close, had almost gotten away, and now his discovery seemed all but inevitable as the slow footsteps drew steadily nearer. Fighting down his rising panic, Sam remained perfectly still and listened intently.

"This is stupid, Rawly. We've been stumbling around down here for two hours! He could be anywhere." The voice belonged to deputy Fuller

"Quit your whining, David." The sheriff's reply was impatient. "I know he came this direction. We both saw the footprints and blood back there. He's injured and lost, and it's only a matter of time before we catch up to him."

There was a brief silence but for the footsteps drawing steadily nearer. Sam judged that the two men were now less than twenty yards from the tree he was huddled behind

"It's going to be dark soon, Rawly," Fuller spoke up again, his tone sounding more desperate. "I don't fancy stumbling around out here at night. You said it yourself, he's injured and lost. Why don't we just let nature finish off what we started? No way he survives the night out here."

The footsteps paused, and a long moment of silence passed. Finally, Rawly spoke. "This is my mess, and I need to make sure it gets cleaned up properly."

"Sure, sure," David's voice was placating. "Let's just head back to town, pick up some of the other boys, and patrol the roads? He'll either stumble his way out and we will find him, or the wilderness will take him. Either way, he's finished."

Another pause. "I don't know. It's too close to game day to afford any loose ends. I'd sleep a lot better tonight after I put a bullet between his eyes!"

"Alright, then why don't we get back into town and call Jenson; have him bring his dog out?" Fuller asked.

The sheriff's reply was immediate. "Nah, you know Ty likes to keep Jenson and Rocky out at the camp right now, just in case one of those boys decides to get a little frisky and make a break for it."

From his hiding place, Sam could clearly hear Fuller's deep sigh. "Speaking of Ty…you know he's not going to be too happy about all of this, right?"

The Sheriff' reply was frustrated and defensive. "I didn't have much choice. The kid was asking too many questions; strange questions. It was almost like he knew something was going on. We couldn't afford to have him poking around, possibly re-opening the search; not now. I made a split second decision and I'm going to stick with it!"

"Of course," David soothed. "But right now, let's just get out of here, get some help. Maybe we can come back and search some more in the morning…as long as we make it back in time for the fun tomorrow."

Rawly's sighed, his tone plainly reluctant. "I guess you're right. We'll patrol the roads, and then get back out here first thing in the morning. Hopefully we can get this whole mess wrapped up before it starts."

"It should be good this year." Fuller offered, his voice sounding cheerier now that he had convinced the sheriff to turn back. "Hey, do you know if Rawly ever found a replacement for that guy that dropped dead on us?"

"Not sure," came Rawly's tense reply. "That's his business. He's in charge of the entertainment and we're in charge of making sure nothing ever gets traced back to us."

The footsteps started up again, but this time they were moving away. Sam listened as the two men retreated back the way they had come, their conversation becoming too muted for Sam to follow. He let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, hardly daring to believe his good fortune. His adversaries had been mere feet from discovering him, and the realization of his near miss left him feeling weak with relief. Even so, Sam remained where he was, his back to the trunk of the tree, his ears peeled for any hint that they might have changed their minds and doubled back. Long minutes ticked by before he finally allowed himself to relax slightly.

Frowning slightly, he replayed the two men's conversation back through his head. Most of what they had said had made no sense to Sam, but at least he now knew the motivation behind Rawly's sudden attack. Something about Sam's questions regarding the missing hikers had spooked him.

_You chose the wrong time to come poking your nose around here, son._ The sheriff's earlier words echoed in Sam's brain. It seemed fairly obvious now that Rawly was somehow involved in the disappearances. There was no other explanation for it. Obviously, he and Dean had stumbled onto something even bigger than they had first suspected.

The idea that they might be dealing with _human_ monsters instead of real monsters didn't surprise him as much as it once might have. This wasn't the first time he had dealt with something like this. Dean wouldn't be too happy about it, though, that was for sure.

Sam felt a sudden spike of apprehension at the thought of his brother. By this point in time Dean would be wondering what had happened to him, might even have begun to look for him. Sam could only hope his brother would have the sense to stay away from the Sheriff's office; for more reasons than the simple fact his brother was a wanted man. Sam had no idea how many people were involved in whatever the Sheriff was up to, but from the overheard conversation he knew there were at least several others. If it were discovered that _Henry Falco_ did not come into town alone, his brother's life could be in danger. Sam felt overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness, knowing he had no way of warning his brother.

He was well over ten miles from Denton, with nothing but rough and unfamiliar terrain between him and the town. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be such a big deal; he had hiked that far and further on many occasions. But his circumstances were anything but normal. He had no supplies, no map, and only a basic idea of the general direction of the town. In this type of terrain, he knew it would be all too easy to make a simple mistake and bypass Denton all together, leaving him wandering without direction through miles of rough wilderness. Add to that the fact that he was injured and weak, night was fast approaching, and he had no weapons with which to defend himself against any wildlife he might encounter, and suddenly the ten miles seemed more like a hundred. And of course, he couldn't forget the fact that he was being hunted.

It was a hard thing to swallow, but for the time being at least, Sam had to reconcile himself to the fact that Dean was on his own. He would have to trust in his brother's skill as a hunter, as well as Dean's innate ability to sense trouble, to keep his brother out of danger until Sam could reach him. In the meantime, he needed to focus on getting himself out of his own mess.

Taking a deep breath, Sam began taking a thorough inventory of his body's many injuries. His fall down the hill had left him sore and bruised, with multiple small cuts and abrasions, but it was the gunshot wound to his arm and the pain from his left side that gave him the most concern. Glancing down at his arm, he was pleased to see that his make-shift bandage seemed to be holding. The wound was still bleeding, but the bandage had at least slowed it down. Without needle and thread, it was the best he could hope for.

He turned his attention to his side. Gingerly lifting his shirt, he winced when his eyes fell on the large, purpling bruise that covered the left side of his chest and torso. Using the fingers of his left hand, he gently probed the area, hissing in air through his clenched teeth at the pain. After a few moments of careful examination, however, he felt fairly confident that none of his ribs were broken, merely severely bruised. It would hurt to breathe for a while, but at least he didn't need to worry about a rib puncturing a lung.

Lowering his shirt, the knuckles of his hand brushed against the small bulge in his pants pocket that was his phone. Sam closed his eyes, wondering how on earth he had managed to forget such an important item. While there was almost no chance his phone would have a signal this deep in the woods, the very fact that he had forgotten its presence was disturbing. There was always the small chance that he might be able to find some tall hill, or maybe a clearing where he could pick up enough reception to send a warning message to his brother. He knew it was unlikely, but a slim chance was better than none.

He reached into his pocket to remove the phone, realizing as soon as he touched it that something was wrong. Pulling it free, he stared down helplessly at the cracked and chipped display. The phone must have been damaged during his wild fall down the hill. Knowing it was useless, he pressed the power button, unsurprised when nothing happened. The phone was truly and completely dead.

Swallowing his disappointment…it really had been a slim chance anyway…he stuffed the broken remains of the cell back into his pocket. A quick glance up through the trees showed him the sun was steadily sinking lower toward the horizon. He guessed he had only a few hours of light left, and then he would need to focus on finding someplace to hole up for the night. It was going to be cold and miserable, but he had camped outside in worse conditions. His greatest fear was that some wild animal would smell the blood from his arm and would come to investigate. He doubted there would be much sleep in store for him this night.

Taking a deep breath, Sam reached behind him with his left hand and used the trunk of the tree to help steady him as he pushed himself to his feet. He hoped to get at least a few miles behind him before stopping for the night, but that wouldn't happen unless he got himself moving. Clenching his jaw against the pain, Sam began the slow journey forward, focusing on the fact that every step brought him that much closer to his brother.

* * *

A flurry of activity around his cage woke Dean from his sleep, and he blinked his eyes several times in confusion before his brain supplied him with the memory of where he was. He slowly pushed himself upright, the muscles in his injured shoulder complaining at the movement. He was surprised to see that it was already early evening, meaning he had been asleep for a couple of hours.

Glancing around him, he quickly became more alert as he realized that his fellow prisoners were being released from their cages under the watchful eyes of half a dozen armed guards. Dean swiftly rose to his feet, watching the activity around him, wondering what was happening. The guards were gathering up the prisoners in a loose group, but as of yet, no one had come to release Dean.

"Exercise time."

Dean started at the voice behind him. Quickly emptying his face of all expression, he turned to face his visitor. Ty stood directly behind Dean's cage, watching him casually, a rifle slung carelessly over one shoulder. "We let them out three times a day to stretch and get some exercise," he continued, his chin jutting out in the direction of the prisoners. Dean turned to watch as the small group set out at a slow jog around the perimeter of the field.

"How humane of you," he stated, his voice flat. "What, no exercise for me?"

Ty moved forward to stand at the side of Dean's cage, his trademark half grin plastered on his narrow face. "I figured you've had enough running for one day."

Dean shrugged, wincing when the movement sent a sharp pain from his shoulder and down his arm. "Fine by me," he replied drolly. "I'm not much of a runner anyway. Not unless someone's chasing me."

Ty's dark eyes regarded him seriously. "You're at a disadvantage here, Dean," he stated, his gaze moving to follow the jogging prisoners. "Most of our other _guests_ have been here long enough they know the rules."

"And what rules are those," Dean asked, allowing a hint of sarcasm into his voice.

"They are very simple, really," Ty replied, turning back to look at Dean. "Do as you are told, when you are told, and don't cause any trouble."

Dean arched one eyebrow. "Wow," he said slowly, shaking his head in mock wonder. "Did you come up with those on your own, or did you have some help?"

Ty narrowed his eyes. "I suggest you take this serious," he warned darkly.

Dean returned Ty's stare with his own, clearing sending the message that he was not intimidated. "Okay, so what happens when someone breaks the rules," he finally asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.

"Then there are consequences," Ty answered, his voice tight. "We take away privileges. For instance, you lose a meal, or perhaps your blankets are taken away for the night, or you are not allowed out to exercise…"

"Sounds terrifying," Dean mumbled derisively.

Ty continued on as if Dean hadn't spoken. "And if you really piss me off, then you get a night in the pit."

"Now _that_ sounds vaguely ominous," Dean commented.

Ty smiled his annoying half-smile. "Let's just say it makes a good enough impression that I've never had to use it on the same person twice."

"Thanks for the warning," Dean stated sardonically. "What's your purpose in telling me all this?"

Ty shrugged. "You strike me as a rebellious type. I figured I would give you a little warning; resisting us will accomplish you nothing. You might as well cooperate, and you might get yourself out of here alive."

Dean stared at Ty in disbelief. "You can't be serious. You're telling me that if I sit and behave myself like a good little boy, you'll what...just let me go? Why do I have a hard time believing that?"

Ty shook his head, "No one is going to just let you go, Dean. You will need to _earn_ your freedom."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "And how do I do that?" he asked suspiciously.

Ty's smile was mysterious. "You'll find out soon enough," he replied simply.

Dean clenched his fists in irritation. At that moment, he would have liked nothing more than to punch the smile right off of Ty's face. "What the hell am I doing here," he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Ty regarded him calmly for several long moments before answering. "You're here because you were the best I could get my hands on in short notice. One of my prisoners decided to get sick and die on me, and I needed a replacement before tomorrow afternoon. You all but fell into my lap. I guess it just wasn't your lucky day."

"What is it you want with us?" Dean demanded. "What's happening tomorrow afternoon?"

Ty's smile returned. "I have some guests coming tomorrow. _Rich_ guests, and you and the others are going to help me entertain them."

There was something in Ty's voice that set the hair on the back of Dean's neck on end. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

Ty shook his head, his smile never leaving his face. "As I said before, you'll find out soon enough." Before Dean could ask any further questions, he turned and strode away across the field.

Dean watched the man go. He had a very bad feeling about the direction this whole thing was going. He very much doubted that the "entertainment" Ty was referring to had anything to do with juggling or singing songs.

Walking to the front of his cage, he watched as the small group of prisoners jogged by. Looking at their faces he saw nothing but resigned weariness. He knew these men had been here for months, held prisoner and awaiting an unknown fate. He couldn't imagine the helplessness they had to be feeling.

After thirty minutes or so of "exercise", the prisoners were returned to their cages. By this time, the sun was a large orange ball sitting heavy on the western horizon. Dean paced his cage, restless, his mind trying to make some kind of sense of all he had learned. He was still working on this when he saw one of the guards approaching, a stack of clothes held in one hand and a dinner tray in the other. Stopping outside Dean's cage, the man placed the dinner tray on the ground and then faced Dean.

"Take your clothes off," he ordered tersely.

Dean stared at the man in suprise, then scowled. "Go to hell," he replied simply.

The guard glared at him, one hand going to the handle of the gun at his waist. "I _said_, take your clothes off," he ordered again, "or I'll shoot your sorry ass."

Dean returned the man's glare, already shaking his head. "Your boss just went to a lot of trouble to bring my _sorry ass_ out here, so I don't think so. I'll say it again. Go. To. Hell."

The guard's face turned a deep shade of crimson, and he swore at Dean. Dean merely smiled back at him.

A second guard moved over to join the first man. "What's going on, Roy?" he asked, giving Dean a terse glance.

"The bastard refuses to change clothes," Roy responded, glaring daggers in Dean's direction.

The second guard turned to regard Dean. "I'd go ahead and do as you are told, young man," he commented softly.

"Good thing you're not me, then." Dean retorted.

The man frowned. "Let me put it this way. If you refuse to undress, I'll call some of my buddies over and we'll go in there, hold you down, and do it for you. I'm not sure you would like that, but I know of at least one of my buddies who would, if you catch my meaning?"

Dean most definitely _did_ catch the guard's meaning, and it sent a chill down his spine. He could tell from the man's tone that he was being perfectly serous. The idea of other men's hands on him, holding him down while they undressed him, was enough to make him feel sick. With a soft oath, he shrugged out of his jacket and reached for the hem of his shirt, trying to ignore the triumphant smirk on Roy's face.

Once he was stripped down to his boxers, the guards ordered him to hand his clothes out through the bars of the cage. After Dean had complied, Roy shoved in the pile of clothes he had been carrying, and Dean hurried to re-dress himself in the black sweat pants and grey shirt, his movements made stiff from his injured shoulder. He left the blue jacket lying on the floor of the cage.

"Now was that so hard?" the second guard asked, before turning and walking away.

Dean swallowed his retort, his eyes on Roy as the guard lingered outside his cage. "You shouldn't have caused trouble," Roy sneered, bending over and picking up the discarded dinner tray. "Now you get to go hungry." He chuckled, obviously pleased with himself, before turning and following after the other guard.

Dean watched them leave, feeling his stomach clench painfully at the pleasant smell of food that lingered after they were gone. He had had nothing to eat all day, and he had to admit he was more than a little hungry. Still, he had gone without food before, and it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Movement on the far end of the field caught his eye, and he turned to watch as a vehicle pulled into the clearing. He gasped when he saw the light-bar across the top of the car, and a moment later, as the vehicle turned, he saw the word SHERIFF in large letters across the side. He froze, watching as a man climbed from the driver's seat of the car and stretched. A moment later, Ty appeared from one of the tents and walked over to meet the newcomer.

_Oh shit!_ Dean thought, watching the two men talk. _Even the freakin' police are in on this?_

His thoughts immediately turned to his brother. Sam had gone to the sheriff's office this morning, and Dean was suddenly filled with a sickening feeling of dread. _Calm down_, he told himself firmly. Just because the Sheriff was involved in whatever was going on, it didn't mean Sam was in any kind of trouble. And yet his instincts told him otherwise. Sam _was_ in trouble. He didn't know how he knew, but he was suddenly as certain of it as he was of his own name.

"Dammit, Sammy," he muttered, turning to peer into the heavy woods surrounding the clearing. "Wherever you are, you had better be okay!"

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed. Any ideas on Ty's plans for poor ol' Dean? _

_Thanks again for all of you who have taken the time to let me know what you think of this story. It is a great motivator for me._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** _Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while._

**Summary: **_While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2._

**Chapter 4**

"_Sam!"_

_Dean's shout echoed back at him through the cavernous woods, his voice sounding small and insignificant amidst the giant trees surrounding him. He turned a slow circle, his eyes desperately trying to pierce the thick shadows that seemed to be steadily growing, reaching for him, as though they were trying to devour him. _

"_Sammy!"_

_Only silence met his call, and Dean felt panic blossom in his chest. Where was Sam? His brother should be here! Without thinking, he began to run, uncertain of where he was heading but being driven on by a frantic need to find his brother. He continued to call Sam's name, his voice becoming more and more desperate as his shouts were met with only silence. Something was wrong…very wrong._

_Skidding to a halt in a small clearing, he looked around him, trying to decide where he should go next. The woods around him were eerily quiet; the only sound Dean heard was the pounding of his own heart. As he stood panting, frozen by indecision, the trees began to close in on him, leafy branches reaching for him. Dean cried out, stumbling back, then turned and began running once more. Fear gripped him, an inexplicable terror, and it all centered on one thought…he had lost his brother._

_**Dean**_.

_His name was nothing more than a soft whisper playing at the edges of his hearing, causing him to stumble to a halt once more, listening intently while keeping a wary eye on the trees around him._

"_Hello?" he called, turning a slow circle, his eyes peeled for any sign of movement._

_**Dean**__. _

_The breathless whisper sounded once more, sending cold shivers running up and down his spine. _

_**You were supposed to save him.**_

_Dean gasped, his eyes wild as he swung first one way and then the other, looking for any sign of where the bodiless voice was coming from. "I'm trying," he shouted, desperate. "I'm trying to save him! Please…please help me find him!"_

_Only silence met his anguished plea, causing him to curse in helpless frustration._

_Suddenly, a scream ripped through the silence of the forest, the sound slicing through Dean like a knife. He knew the voice behind the scream…knew it as well as he knew his own voice. Surging forward, he recklessly raced through the trees in the direction he thought the scream had come from, unaware and uncaring as branches reached out and tore at his flesh. His only thought was to reach Sam. _

_Breaking free of the forest, he suddenly found himself standing on the banks of a large river, the water tumbling and swirling at his feet. The scream came again, the sound so full of pain and fear that Dean physically flinched. His gaze snapped across the river, his heart freezing in his chest when he spotted his brother on the far bank. Sam was kneeling, his body hunched and shaking, scarlet blood covering his chest and arms. A shapeless shadow hovered over him, swirling and shifting ominously._

"_Sam!" Dean shouted, plunging several feet into the frigid river, pausing only when the swift flowing water threatened to take his feet out from under him._

_At his call, his brother slowly lifted his head, his long hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. The brothers gazes met, and Dean felt all the air leave his lungs at the look in Sam's eyes. He had always been able to read Sam pretty clearly through the expression in his eyes. A single glance told him when Sam was angry, curious, happy, annoyed, concerned, and afraid. _

_The look in Sam's eyes right now terrified him. It was a look of resignation; the look of a man who knew death was coming for him and had given up trying to fight it. _

_Without thought, Dean plunged forward into the river, even as the shadow behind his brother flexed and roiled, moving forward to envelop Sam. His brother screamed again, the sound muffled by the churning darkness, and Dean knew he was too late, knew he would never reach Sam in time. His own cry tore from his lungs, even as the river grabbed his legs in an iron grip and jerked his feet from under him._

_His last view before the river claimed him was his brother's body slowly toppling forward, eyes open and staring…lifeless._

* * *

_NO!_

Dean came awake with a cry, jerking upright on the thin mattress, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps as his eyes darted around the small confines of his cell, his brain struggled to separate nightmare from reality. It was several long seconds before his mind was able to accept the fact that he had been dreaming, that nothing he had seen had been real.

But it had _seemed_ real, and he was having difficulty shaking the desperation and panic. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he closed his eyes, and then just as quickly jerked them open, the image of Sam bloodied and dying seared into the back of his lids.

Shoving aside his tangle of blankets, Dean turned his body sideways on the mattress and pushed himself backward until he was leaning against the cold bars of his cell. His injured shoulder ached fiercely at the movement, but he welcomed the pain, used it to help ground him. Taking another deep breath, he ran a slightly trembling hand down across his face, feeling the rough growth of stubble across his chin.

It was early morning, the golden glow of the sun barely tipping the horizon, the air crisp and cold. Dean focused on the chill, on the ache in his shoulder, on the feel of the thin mattress beneath him, on the twisting pang of hunger in his belly; on anything that would keep his mind from the dream and the terror it had sparked in his chest.

He knew what had fueled the nightmare. Finding out that the sheriff of Denton was somehow involved in whatever it was that was going on had left him fearful for his brother's safety. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning, worrying about Sam, and when sleep had finally come his subconscious had picked up where his waking mind had left off.

It wasn't the first of such nightmares for Dean; after his father's death, similar dreams had haunted his sleep on more than one occasion. He would come awake, gasping and shaking, only to see his brother's gangly form sprawled out on the bed next to his. Simply seeing Sam lying there, alive and well…safe, was usually enough for him to shake the effects of the dream.

This time, however, he had no such reassurance. His brother wasn't here, and Dean had no way to know if Sam was safe or not. He hated the helpless feeling that realization brought with it. It was his job to look out for Sam. It had always been his job, and even though Sam was a grown man now, perfectly capable of looking after himself, Dean knew he would carry that responsibility with him to the grave.

It was so much more than just being a big brother; in a lot of ways, protecting Sam was a form of self-preservation. He _needed _Sam just as much as his brother needed him. In his short life, Dean had experienced loss and sacrifice on a scale few people could even imagine, and it had left deep scars on his soul. His brother was all he had left in this world. Sam was the glue that held him together, kept him grounded and focused…kept him whole. Without his brother, he knew he would be lost.

For over an hour he sat, silent and unmoving as the camp came awake around him. It wasn't until a guard brought him breakfast that Dean stirred himself to move. The guard shoved a plastic bowl…still steaming slightly in the cold morning air…and a glass of water through the bars of the cage, then turned and walked away without saying a word. With a small moan, Dean pushed his body away from the bars and used his left arm to help heave himself to his feet. Holding his right hand carefully across his stomach so as not to jar his injured arm, he walked over to the bowl and bent down to pick it up, seeing that it was full of some kind of oatmeal. There was no spoon, but the oatmeal was thin enough that it could be easily drunk.

Glancing to his left and right, Dean could see that his fellow prisoners had also been given bowls of food. None of them seemed to hesitate as they grabbed the plastic containers and tipped the food into their mouths. Raising his own bowl, Dean took a cautionary sip of the contents. Finding that the oatmeal was surprisingly good…or perhaps it was just that he was so hungry… he tipped the bowl even further, gulping down its contents in no time. When he had finished with the oatmeal, he reached for the glass of water and drained the liquid in a few deep swallows. The small meal barely made a dent in his hunger, but Dean knew it would provide his body with much needed strength, and for that he was grateful. Whatever the day had planned for him, he needed to be ready.

Breakfast finished, Dean walked to the front of his cage and gripped the bars with one hand, watching the activity going on in the camp around him. The guards seemed in high spirits this morning, shouting and laughing amongst themselves, and there was an undeniable air of excitement and anticipation hanging over the camp. Even the prisoner's seemed to feel it; they were restless, pacing the small confines of their cages, their eyes darting about them in a nervous sort of way. Only Dean and the large black man in the cage beside him were still, watching the commotion around them with little reaction.

Movement at the corner of the field caught Dean's eye, and he turned to watch as the same car from the previous evening pulled slowly into the field, the sheriff's insignia on the side gleaming in the morning sun. Dean's jaw clenched as he watched the driver exit the car and head straight for one of the tents on the far edge of the field. Just as the man reached the tent, the flap swung open and Ty stepped out into the morning.

Dean watched the two men conversing, wishing desperately he could hear what they were saying. Several times one or the other of them would glance in his direction, but whether they were looking at him in particular or just in the general area, he could not tell. The answer to that question came a moment later, however, when both men began walking across the field, heading straight for Dean's cage.

Dean took a few steps back from the front of the cell and watched their approach warily. Unconsciously he began clenching and unclenching his fists, picking up a nervous habit he had developed when he was younger and was preparing himself for battle. His right arm complained at the simple motion, but he ignored the pain.

The two men came to a stop several paces in front of Dean's cage, their faces without expression as they regarded him. Ty was the first to speak. "Sleep well?" he asked, the barest hint of a smile twitching the corners of his lips.

Dean didn't bother to respond. He was in no mood to play word games with the man this morning.

Ty waited a moment, and then when it became clear Dean had no intention of answering, he turned and glanced at the man beside him. The man took a half step forward, and Dean glanced down at the name embroidered on his jacket identifying him as T. RAWLY. The man didn't waste any time with introductions but jumped straight to the chase. "Tell us about Henry Falco?" he asked without preamble.

Dean felt his heart skip a beat, and only years of training and experience allowed him to keep his features neutral, his expression carefully blank. "Who?" he asked casually.

"Don't play games with us," Ty growled warningly, stepping forward beside the sheriff. "Sheriff Rawly made a visit to your hotel last night. He found out you two came into town together…that you're staying in the same room. So it's obvious you know one another. Now what I want to know is who exactly _is_ he, and why was he asking questions about the missing hikers?"

Dean met Ty's gaze with his own and remained stubbornly silent. Until he had more information about what was going on with Sam, he didn't want to accidently endanger is brother by saying the wrong thing.

Ty's eyes narrowed. "You're a whole lot less talkative then yesterday, Dean. Where's your wit and smart ass comments now? You know we will figure out what's going on here one way or another," he stated with certainty. "It would go easier for you if you just cooperate and answer our questions."

Dean let out a derisive snort, but before he could reply with an appropriate comeback, sheriff Rawly moved forward, closing the distance to the cage in three short steps. He stared at Dean intently, his expression full of dawning recognition. "Wait a minute," he said slowly "Wait just a moment…I know you!"

Dean's heart sunk, but he forced himself to meet the sheriff's gaze calmly. "Don't think we've ever met," he drawled casually. "Maybe I just have one of those faces…

"No!" Rawly snapped. "I _do_ know you. You're Dean…Dean Winchester. I have your wanted poster on my desk back at my office."

_Crap_, Dean thought. It looked like his gig was up. Of course, he wasn't sure it made much of a difference in his current situation.

"What?" Ty snapped, glancing back and forth between the sheriff and Dean. "What are you talking about, Rawly?"

A slow smile spread across the sheriff's face as he answered, "It looks like you managed to capture yourself a real criminal, Ty. This man is on the 'most wanted' list of none other than the FBI. They've almost caught him a couple of times, but apparently he keeps slipping away from them. Him and his brother have been on the run for months now."

Ty's eyes widened as his gaze snapped to Dean. "Well, well, well," he said softly. "Looks like I managed to succeed where the FBI has failed. So, what did you do to piss off the feds, kid?"

Rawly didn't give Dean a chance to respond. "Murder in the first," he answered, his voice gloating. "There were a whole bunch of other charges as well, but I think that was the real kicker."

"Murder in the first," Ty repeated slowly, his eyes on Dean. "Well, I never would have pegged you as a killer, but I guess that just goes to show that you never know about some people."

Dean clenched his jaw and didn't answer. The thought of trying to defend himself to the man who had drugged and kidnapped him and was currently keeping him locked in a tiny cage awaiting who knew what fate, wasn't at all appealing. Let Rawly think he was a cold blooded murderer, maybe it would make the man more cautious of messing with him.

"This still doesn't answer my original question, though," Ty continued. "We want to know about Henry Falco. Who is he? What does he know about the missing hikers?"

"Hold on a minute, Ty" Rawly's expression was calculating. "The report I have on Dean here states he is traveling around with his brother…Sam Winchester. You don't suppose Henry Falco might really be his brother, do you?"

Ty nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Dean. "Is that true?" he asked softly. "Is Henry Falco really your brother?"

Silence had been working for him so far, and Dean decided not to break pattern now. The less these men knew about him and his brother, the better. Already they were piecing together more information than he liked. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could feel a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.

Ty waited a few moments before giving a small shrug. "Of course he's your brother," he stated with certainty. "Which means he's not really a private investigator." He gaze turned fierce. "I don't know why the hell you two came snooping around here, but I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. Neither of you are a threat to us anymore."

The words struck Dean like a physical blow, bringing with it all the terror from his nightmare. Without thinking, he lunged forward to the front of the cage, gripping the bars and glaring at the two men. "What do you mean?" He demanded. "What the hell have you done with my brother? I swear to god, if you've hurt one hair on his head, I will tear you to pieces!"

Both Ty and Rawly had taken a small step back at Dean's sudden lunge, but now Ty moved forward once more. "So, he does talk after all," he commented, his features twisted in a cruel smirk. "I guess you just need to know what buttons to push."

"Tell me where my brother is," Dean demanded coldly, his whole body shaking with barely suppressed rage. He gave the bars a single, hard shake, wishing his fists were closed around Ty's throat instead of the cold metal.

Ty slowly shook his head. "I'll tell you what, Dean." He said slowly, his features thoughtful. "If you manage to survive the day… I'll tell you about your brother."

Dean stared back at Ty with pure hatred. He wanted nothing more than to rip the bars out of his way and slam his fists repeatedly into the man's smug face. But doing that wouldn't get him the information he needed. He swallowed down his anger with difficulty. "And what exactly am I supposed to be surviving?" he asked tightly, forcing his hands to release their grip on the bars.

Ty didn't answer immediately. He stood regarding Dean, his eyes calculating. Finally he spoke, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you now. The others already know, and the action starts in a few hours anyway." He paused.

Dean waited impatiently for Ty to continue. The sooner he knew what this psycho's plans for him were, the sooner he could come up with a plan to get through them and find some way to get back to his brother.

Sheriff Rawly was the one who broke the silence. He spoke to Ty. "I'm going to head back into town…see if David has any new information on our _other_ situation. I'll make sure all our guests get out here alright before it starts." Ty nodded, and Rawly turned and walked away.

"Before _what_ starts?" Dean demanded, unable to hold back his impatience. "Tell me what it is you want me to do!"

Ty smiled, the expression not at all pleasant. "It's really very simple, Dean," he stated slowly. "All you have to do is fight for me. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Fight for you?" Dean repeated, taken off guard by the unexpected statement. "Who the hell am I supposed to fight?"

Ty shook his head. "Come now, Dean," he answered wryly, "surely it's not _that_ hard to figure out?"

Dean glared at him, biting back his scathing reply. He glanced slowly to either side of him, down along the row of cages. "You're going to have us fight each other," he guessed simply. "That was the 'entertainment' you were talking about yesterday. You plan to have us fight one another?"

Ty spread his arms and dipped his head in a gesture of approval. "Very good," he praised. "It's nice to see you have a brain to go with all that toughness."

"Why?" Dean demanded.

Ty's smile was predatory. "Because I have nearly one hundred guests coming, and each of them are paying me ten thousand dollars to watch."

Dean rocked back a step in shock. "Who the hell pays ten thousand dollars to watch men fight each other?" he asked, incredulous.

"It's not really the fighting they pay to watch," Ty responded causally, "as much as the bleeding and dying. Apparently for some people, that's a real turn on."

_Dying_.

With that single word, the final pieces to the puzzle snapped to place in Dean's mind. He closed his eyes, a hollow, sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. "To the death," he whispered softly, re-opening his eyes. "You want us to fight to the death, is that it?"

"Bingo." Ty responded simply.

Dean slowly shook his head in disbelief, wondering why he and Sam always seemed to be such a magnet for psychos and nut-jobs…of both the natural and supernatural kind. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered, more to himself than to Ty.

"Not at all," Ty responded cheerily. "There are eight of you, and so the first round will consist of four fights. The four that win the first round will move to the next round later this evening. The two that win this evening will face off tomorrow morning in what I guess you could call the grand finale. The winner of _that_ fight…earns his freedom. It's as simple as that."

"You're a sick bastard," Dean growled, disgust and anger filling him as he stared at the man standing in front of him.

Ty shrugged. "Perhaps," he responded simply. "But I am a _rich_ sick bastard. Between the entrance fee and what my guests spend on betting and booze… I'm more than set for the whole year."

"You honestly think you'll get away with this?" Dean asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Of course," Ty replied without hesitation. "I've been getting away with it for over a decade now. Fifteen years ago I owned a fight club in town. Not the pansy kind of club, but a tough, bare-knuckles blood and sweat kind of club. It was popular, too, and I was doing well for myself. But then we had a couple of fatalities and the government stepped in and shut me down. In six months I was almost broke and getting pretty desperate." Ty shook his head, his eyes focused inward as he reminisced.

"It was at this time that I learned that there were people out there…wealthy people…who would pay a small fortune just to watch other people bash each other's skulls in. I was approached by a man…a warden from a nearby prison…who was interested in starting up a partnership with me. He had his own fight club, one that was far from legal. He had a small but steadily growing clientele, all of them wealthy, and all willing to pay heavily for the type of entertainment the warden offered. His business was growing large enough that he could no longer keep it easily hidden, and that is where I came in. All I had to do was find a location for the fights and handle all the logistical aspects of getting it set up, and the warden did the rest. Each year he would provide a small group of inmates he managed to smuggle from the prison. The prisoners would fight each other until only one remained, and that inmate would earn his freedom. It was the perfect set-up, and it made the warden and me very wealthy."

Dean was hardly able to believe what he was hearing. He wasn't naïve enough to believe evil was limited to monsters and demons…he had far too much experience otherwise. Still, the thought that there were people who would not only willingly watch their fellow humans beings forced to fight and kill each other, but would actually _pay_ to see it, made him feel slightly sick. And people like Ty, who made their living off such foul entertainment, were even worse in his mind.

"Unfortunately," Ty continued, unaware of the look of disgust Dean was leveling at him, "The prison warden was killed in a riot ten years ago, and the prison shut down shortly after. I was left with a choice. I could let the business die, or I could try to keep it going on my own. By that time I had paid off and bribed enough people in high positions that I felt fairly certain I could keep it up without detection. And so I have. I've had to change a few things…adapt…but in the end it has been worth it."

"Congratulation," Dean growled. "Your creativeness should earn you a front row seat in hell!"

Ty laughed. "As long as they have this kind of entertainment there, I wouldn't complain."

A muscle along Dean's jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth together. "And according to you, the winner just gets to go free?" he asked skeptically. "Why do I find myself doubting that? It seems highly unlikely you'd let someone who could potentially blow the whistle on you whole operation just walk free."

"Think about it, Dean," Ty replied. "The winner would have just had to brutally murder three people; they're not exactly going to be chomping at the bit to run to the authorities." He shrugged again. "Even if they did, I know how to cover my tracks. I have enough people paid off in high positions that no charges would ever stick, not without evidence…which they would never find."

Dean shook his head at the arrogance of the man. "What happens if I refuse to play along?" He challenged. "Refuse to fight for your sick entertainment?"

Ty let out a small huff of laughter. "You won't" he replied simply

"Think so?" Dean asked softly, his eyes rock hard as he stared at Ty.

Ty shook his head. "You think you're the first person I've heard ask that, Dean? But just wait until you're in that arena and your opponent is attempting to bash in your head…you'll fight back. They always do." The last was said with absolute certainty.

"And what if we both refuse to fight?" Dean asked harshly.

"Then you both die," Ty replied simply. "There is only one way out of here, Dean, and that is to win. You can't win if you don't fight." Ty regarded Dean for a moment, his eyes narrowed. "Besides," he continued, "what's three more kills to a man like you?"

Dean didn't answer, and eventually Ty shrugged. "Fight or don't fight, it makes no difference to me. One way or another, my clients will get to watch you die. And if you die, you'll die without ever knowing what happened to your brother."

Dean grunted as Ty's words struck home. "You son of a bitch," he growled. "You're going down…soon…and I'm going to make sure I'm around to see it."

Ty smiled. "Then you had better plan on winning," he retorted lightly. "Enjoy your day, Dean. It may well be your last." And with those words, the man turned and walked away.

Dean watched him go, his mind working frantically. He had to figure out a way to escape, and soon. If he didn't, in a few short hours he would find himself facing off against one of his fellow prisoners in a fight match to the death. He didn't know _what_ he would do if that happened. He had no doubt that the hope for freedom would drive most, if not all, of his fellow prisoners to fight…and to fight hard. In the end, it came down to survival, and there were few things a person was willing to fight harder for than their own life.

For Dean, it was not his own life that mattered to him so much as the life of his brother. If he died here today, there would be no one left to look out for Sam, and that option was simply unacceptable to him. He had learned long ago that there was very little that he was_ not_ willing to do to protect his family.

"We've landed ourselves in a deep pile of shit this time, Sammy," he whispered softly, looking out at the surrounding forest through the bars of his cage. He smiled slightly. "But I guess this isn't the first time. When we get out of this, you can tease me about letting some cowboy wannabe get the drop on me." His smile slowly faded as he continued to stare out at the forest. _Don't worry, Sammy,_ he thought fiercely. _I'm going to find some way out of this, and them I'm going to come find you!_

Because in the end, Dean refused to allow himself to believe that it might already be too late to save his brother.

* * *

Sam was running a fever.

It had come on sometime during the night, as he lay shivering and miserable in the hollowed out trunk of a giant tree. Despite the thick layer of dried leaves he had piled over him to help retain his body's heat, the night had been bitterly cold and he had slept very little.

Twice during the night he had heard the sounds of some kind of animal moving around in the thick underbrush near his hiding place. Both times he had sat bolt upright, his heart pounding in his throat, his hand gripping the heavy branch he had laid near him. He knew the branch would offer him little protection against a cougar or even a bear, but it was better than nothing. Whatever kind of animal was making the noise eventually moved off, and after several long minutes Sam had allowed himself to sink back against the support of the tree, breathing heavily in his relief.

Sam knew Dean would probably make fun of his panic, but he would have gladly accepted the teasing as long as it meant his brother was _there,_ with him. He couldn't believe how much he missed his brother's confident presence. Even if Dean could be a royal pain in the ass, Sam had grown so accustomed to his company that even if he hadn't been half freezing and in pain, he wasn't sure he would have been able to sleep without his brother's familiar snores beside him.

Because he couldn't sleep, Sam spent most of the night worrying. He worried about his brother, worried about his injuries, worried about getting lost in the wilderness, worried about the possible dark prospects of his future, worried about the stupid _impala_. Basically, he worried about anything in general and everything in particular. By morning, he was a twisted wreck of despair and depression.

Sam greeted the morning's light with both relief and trepidation. He was relieved that he would no longer be stuck in a blanket of darkness in which the slightest sound set his heart racing, and yet he was dreading the fact that with the coming of day he would need to get up and start his hike towards town once more.

After a night of sitting relatively still, his body was stiff and sore, the bruises from his fall down the hill making themselves known. Add to that the blanket of exhaustion from lack of sleep, the burning pain in his arm and ribs, the weakness from lack of food and blood loss, and the fever…and Sam wasn't even certain he would be _able_ to rise.

But rise he must. His life depended on it, and possibly the life of his brother as well. Sam had to get to him…had to warn him. If something happened to Dean because he wasn't able to get his ass up off the ground, he would never forgive himself; never mind the fact that he probably wouldn't live long enough _to_ forgive himself.

With a deep groan, Sam pressed his left hand against the trunk of the tree behind him and prepared to rise. Pushing himself slowly to his feet, he felt a wave of nausea that threatened to bring him to his knees. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he waited for the dizziness to pass. It took several minutes, but eventually he felt it was safe to take a cautious step forward without the fear of falling flat on his face.

He spared a glance down at his injured arm. He had changed out the makeshift bandage twice during the night, tearing more strips from his tattered shirt. The current bandage was already soaked through with blood, but Sam decided to wait awhile before changing the dressing again. For one thing, the process was extremely painful, and for another, at the rate he was going, by the time he reached town, he wouldn't have any shirt left.

Sam knew he needed to find some water, and quickly. With all the blood he was losing, he needed to replenish his body's supply of liquid. And now, with the fever, the chance of dehydration was only too real. He didn't have the energy, however, to go searching for a stream or brook. He could only hope he would stumble across something on his way back to town. Strangely enough, though he hadn't eaten in over twenty four hours, he didn't feel particularly hungry.

Putting one foot in front of the other, he concentrated on moving forward. He used the same large branch he had kept with him through the night as a walking staff, leaning his weight heavily against the thick bough. His steps were clumsy and awkward at first, but as the sun rose higher and warmed him, he found his muscles beginning to loosen and his gate eased slightly.

Humming a Metallica song in his head…one of Dean's favorites…he did his best to move as quickly as his battered body would allow, anxious to cover as much distance as possible. He didn't fancy spending another night out in the wilderness if he could help it. He wasn't sure he would survive it.

By mid-morning he felt he was making fairly good time. In the rough terrain it was hard to estimate distance, but he guessed he had traveled at least several miles. He would occasionally need to stop and lean against the trunk of a tree while he waited for a bout of nausea and dizziness to pass, but all things considered, he wasn't doing half bad.

As he traveled, Sam let his mind travel back in time to memories of camping trips he and Dean had taken with their father when they were young. The trips were never taken simply for fun, but for "training purposes." Yet between the target practice, hand-to-hand combat, survival lessons, and small arms training, Sam and Dean would often find time to sneak away from camp and explore the surrounding area. Sam could clearly remember those times, as it was on these rare occasions that Dean seemed most at ease and relaxed, laughing easily as he showed Sam some new wonder he had discovered. Despite Dean's incessant teasing, Sam had cherished those moments with his brother. It wasn't very often that he saw his brother truly happy, and even as a young child he had instinctively known that he was witnessing something rare and truly special.

Pausing beside a large oak, Sam leaned into the tree's trunk for support as a sudden fit of trembling shook his limbs and robbed him of strength. It was getting harder and harder to focus, and he knew his fever was getting worse. He could only hope that he would reach town before the fever completely robbed him of his wits and left him walking in circles.

Taking a deep breath, Sam pushed away from the support of the tree and began his slow journey forward once more. The ground began to slope gradually downward, the ground covered with a thick layer of dead leaves which made the footing slippery and treacherous. Sam relied heavily on his improvised walking stick to keep from toppling forward on his face. By the time he reached the bottom of the slope, he was breathing heavily, his right arm wrapped protectively around his aching ribs, the knuckles of his left hand white as the tightly gripped the branch.

He paused to catch his breath, and that was when he heard it; the clear sound of running water. The moment his brain registered the noise, his thirst made itself suddenly and forcefully known. His mouth suddenly seemed overly hot and dry, his saliva glands unable to produce enough moisture to ease the parched feel of his tongue. He stumbled forward, suddenly desperate to reach the source of the tantalizing sound.

It took him longer than he had expected, but after several minutes of purposeful trekking, the trees around him began to thin and the sound of the water grew even louder. Eventually he broke from the cover of trees to find himself standing on the rocky banks of a river. Without hesitation he stumbled to the water's edge and dropped to his knees, reaching out to scoop large handfuls of the liquid to his dry mouth. The water was ice cold and refreshing, and Sam relished in the feel of it against his fever hot face. He knew there was danger in drinking the untreated water, but stacked against his other injuries it seemed like a distant and trivial risk. Besides, with his blood loss and fever robbing his body of strength and moisture, he desperately needed to rehydrate.

He drank until his thirst was satiated, then carefully removed the bandage wrapped around his arm, hissing in pain as the material stuck briefly to the wound. As soon as the cloth was removed, the cut began to bleed steadily down his arm. Sam noted that the injury looked red and swollen, and he guessed that infection was beginning to set in…likely the source of his fever. Moving as quickly as he could one-handed, he rinsed the bandage clean in the quick flowing river and then re-tied it across the wound. The bandage was cold from the icy water, and it helped soothe and numb the burning pain.

His arm taken care of, Sam sat back on his haunches and looked out across the sparkling waters of the river. The cold water had helped clear his head, as well as refresh and strengthen him, but he didn't immediately move to rise. As he watched the water tumble and splash past, his mind flashed back to a long forgotten memory of another river. In his mind's eye, he could see his much younger self standing at the water's edge …

_Sam flinched as the muted sound of his father's cry of pain drifted to him from the cabin behind him. He guessed that Dean had just finished re-setting John's badly dislocated shoulder. His father's latest battle against evil had left him badly battered and beaten, and Dean had wanted to take their father to the hospital for professional treatment. _

_Characteristically, John had refused, insisting instead that his eldest son take care of things. Dean had reluctantly agreed and gone for the first aid kit as Sam had fled the cabin for the fresh air outside. The smell of blood had always made him feel slightly queasy. He couldn't understand how his brother handled it so calmly. At the tender age of 16, Dean was already well experienced in patching up numerous types of injuries. He was good at it too, though Sam knew Dean secretly hated it. Still, his brother handled the task as he did all the other unpleasant jobs John assigned him; by shoving his emotions and fears behind a thick wall and simply doing what needed done._

_Sam found a small, smooth stone and attempted to skip it across the churning waters of the river. It was a lot harder when the water was moving so swiftly, and he had not yet managed it, but he kept determinedly trying. Several minutes and over twenty stones later, he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind. He glanced over as Dean joined him at the river's side, his brother's features looking pale and strained._

"_How's dad?" Sam asked softly, though he really wanted to ask how Dean was doing. However, he knew that his brother would just dodge the question and give him some bull crap answer about being fine. _

"_Bitching about the pain and drinking whisky like's it going out of style," Dean responded tiredly, rubbing his hand down his face, his silver ring glinting dulling in the afternoon light. "I spect' he won't be feeling much soon."_

_Sam grimaced, knowing that as tired as Dean looked, his brother would be spending the night sitting up watching their father, making sure he didn't take a turn for the worse or get sick during the night. He felt a flash of resentment, and quickly tried to tamp it down. It wasn't that he wasn't worried about his father; he just found it extremely unfair that it was always Dean left dealing with the consequences of his father's choices._

_Reaching out hesitantly, he grasped Dean's hand, trying to silently offer his brother his support. Dean looked startled for a moment, his eyes flickering to Sam's. He gave Sam's hand a quick squeeze before looking away and withdrawing his hand. Sam recognized his brother's stubborn attempt to pretend that everything was fine. It was a front he knew Dean put up mostly for his benefit; a way to try and convince Sam that their life wasn't royally screwed up._

_Sam remembered a distant time…before Dean's walls had firmly been put in place…when his brother hadn't been quite so afraid to talk to him, to be _real_ with him. It hadn't happened often, but in rare moments of vulnerability his brother would share with him his fears and frustrations about the jacked up life they lived. Those rare moments of intimacy were all but gone now, replaced by Dean's unyielding need to be strong and unbreakable. Because strength was what Dean needed in order to protect his family, and protecting his family was what Dean did best._

_Sam sighed. "Dad will be fine, Dean," he said reassuringly, knowing the empty words were all he had to offer his brother._

_Dean swallowed, and then looked back at Sam, a fake smile flashing across his features, his emotions carefully hidden behind his wall. "Of course he will, Sammy," he answered lightly. "He's got me to look after him."_

Sam blinked his eyes several times, shaking his head to clear it of the vivid memory. He had no idea what had brought that particular recollection to mind. Perhaps it stemmed simply from his need to have his brother with him once more, to have Dean tell him that everything was going to be alright because he was going to look after him. It was a childish need, and one that Sam hated to admit, even to himself. He was alone, and if he was going to survive, he needed to find the strength within himself.

Using the walking stick to help balance him, he pushed himself to his feet, feeling a new sense of resolve fill him. Right now, he just needed to focus on getting back to town, and to do that, he would need to find some way to cross the river. The river was not particularly wide, but toward the center it looked fairly deep. Sam was an excellent swimmer, but in his weakened state and with his injured arm and ribs, he wasn't sure he would be able to manage the swift flowing current without being swept miles off course.

Glancing right and left, he noticed that the river widened considerably about fifty yards downstream. He knew this was a good thing, as it meant the water would likely be much shallower and the currents less swift. He decided he would make his crossing there. Decision made, he started downstream, watching the water roll and play its way past him. When he reached the area he had seen, he was pleased to see that the water did indeed shallow out, and he could see the rocks at the bottom all the way across.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the river, shuddering as the frigid water flooded into his shoes and played with the bottoms of his pants leg. He immediately felt the tug and pull of the current against his feet, but it didn't seem too strong, and he cautiously waded forward. The further he went, the deeper the river became, and by the time he was halfway across, the water was swirling and pushing just above his knees. The press of the current had increased as well, forcing him to slow down and make sure every placement of his foot was steady before moving the other one. He kept his eyes focused on the opposite bank, breathing deeply through his nose as he tried to still the wild trembling in his legs from the icy water.

He was just past the midway point of the river when a sudden wrenching feeling low in his stomach had him gasping in sudden pain. He froze, holding his breath as he waited to see if the sensation would repeat itself. Sure enough, a moment later the pain reappeared, and this time, instead of immediately fading, it only intensified. Sam groaned and hunched over in the middle of the river as the cramps stole the air from his lungs. He realized belatedly that gulping mouthfuls of ice cold water on an empty stomach had perhaps not been the wisest move. And of course, Winchester luck would have the cramps hitting him now, while in the middle of the river, rather than two minutes later when he would have safely reached the other side.

"Damn it," he muttered, breathing harshly as he tried to fight through the pain. _Just a few more steps, _he thought to himself, focusing on moving his right foot slowly forward, followed carefully by his left. But he made it no further as fate decided to turn against him once more. As if the cramps were not enough, his vision of the opposite bank suddenly swam as yet another wave of dizziness overtook him.

_Oh god, not now_, Sam thought desperately. He gripped his walking stick tightly with both hands and tried to use it to anchor himself as the world tilted and spun around him. Closing his eyes only made the spinning sensation worse, and he suddenly knew he was falling. He didn't even have a chance to cry out before his feet were swept out from under him and he was falling back into the icy embrace of the river.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed…_

_Sorry about all the dialogue early in the chapter. Dean's action is coming soon, I promise._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** _Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while._

**Summary: **_While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2._

**A/N**—_First of all, I would like to thank everyone who has read this story…and especially to those of you who have taken the time to review. You're reviews inspire and encourage me greatly. _

_Please be aware that this chapter contains some graphic violence that may not be suitable/acceptable to all. You have been warned. _

_Also, there may be some phrases in this chapter that might be taken as racial. Please let me assure you that no insult is intended…I merely wanted to stay as true as possible to the type of people this story deals with. I apologize in advance for anything that might be taken wrongly._

_That said…hope you enjoy…_

**Chapter 5**

Dean knew he was running out of time.

Pacing the small confines of his prison cell, he could feel every minute slipping past him like sand through an hourglass as his tired brain futilely attempted to come up with some sort of escape plan that didn't end with him either being shot or becoming Rocky's chew toy again. The trouble was, the harder he tried to focus on the task before him, the more he found his mind wandering. He couldn't stop thinking about what Ty had told him…about the casual way the man had claimed that Sam was no longer a threat. At the time, the words had brought rage fueled by fear, but as the morning wore on, the anger slowly faded leaving only the bitter fear behind. He couldn't seem to focus past his desperate need to find out what had happened to his brother.

Ty had promised to tell him if he survived the man's twisted plans for him, but Dean wasn't particularly inclined to stick around and find out if he was telling the truth. The thought of fighting his fellow prisoners to the death was such a horrific idea that he hadn't yet allowed his mind to accept the possibility that it might come down to that. Despite Ty's words to the contrary, Dean felt fairly confident that the man had no intention of letting the winner simply walk away. It would be far too great a risk, not to mention the fact that in all of the reports he and Sam had reviewed regarding the missing hikers, none had ever mentioned any of the missing men showing up again. It was a fact that was a little _too_ telling to simply ignore.

All things considered, Dean knew his best and only hope was to make another attempt at escape. But to do that with any reasonable chance of success, he would need a plan, and this was where he kept running into a brick wall. Coming up with a complex plan was something that ran more to Sam's talents than his own. Sam was _thought_ where Dean was _action_. Dean felt certain that if his brother were here right now, he would have already come up with some ingenious and complicated plan of escape that would be all but foolproof. Sam had a way of looking at things outside the box; of manipulating situations into his favor. Dean often teased his brother about his intellectual abilities, but in truth, he was more than a little proud of how smart Sam truly was. Despite everything, his brother had been able to rise above the circumstances of their screwed up childhood and excel academically.

As for Dean, he'd had far too many worries as a child to focus on school. Would his father be returning from his latest hunt? Would he have enough money to buy food for Sam? Would the hotel clerk figure out they were paying with a fake card and throw them out? Would child services be waiting for them when they got home? He had figured out early on that the stuff he learned from books at school played little part in the day to day reality of keeping his family safe.

With this in mind, he had turned his attention instead to learning the information and skills necessary to survive the life of a hunter. By the age of eight, he was not only an excellent shot, but he could dismantle and reassemble over two dozen different kinds of guns. He had learned to fight with multiple weapons or simply with his bare hands, learned to run complicated scams that would fool even the most suspicious marks, learned to identify the telltale signs of different types of hauntings…the list went on and on. The more Dean learned and trained, the more he had pushed away any portion of himself that dreamed of a different future. He had come to realize that such dreams were only a distraction, and distractions could be costly…distractions could get his family killed.

Sam was different. Sam _had_ dared to dream of something more…had in fact been able to achieve it, if for only a time. Dean could still clearly remember the cold Autumn morning when his brother had left for Stanford. He remembered standing at the window of the run-down cabin, watching his brother stride angrily away down the road, his duffel thrown carelessly over one shoulder. He could remember the internal battle that had waged inside of him between the part of him that wanted to race after his brother and convince him to come back…to _drag_ him back kicking and screaming if necessary…and the other part of him silently urging Sam on. It was the knowledge that Sam was getting away…that he could finally have a _life_…that he would finally be _safe_…that had allowed Dean to stand still and silent, watching his brother fade from view down the road. It had felt as though his heart was being torn in two, and he would never forget the loneliness and fear that had overwhelmed him at that moment. Not fear for his brother, but fear for himself. Sam had been his purpose in life for so long, that Dean had been unsure if he knew how to survive without his brother by his side.

And it was that same fear that gripped Dean now, that robbed him of his ability to focus on the task of coming up with a proper escape plan. This was not the first time he had been in this position. Twice over the last year he had woken to an empty hotel room, his brother gone without a trace and not answering his phone calls. Both times Dean had been momentarily frozen by the same panic that had left it hard to think. Only action…getting out there and searching for his brother…had allowed him to push through the overwhelming haze of fear.

Cursing softly beneath his breath, Dean aimed a frustrated kick at one of the bars of his cage and was rewarded with a sharp pain in his foot. Shaking his head, he limped over to his mattress and let his body flop tiredly down onto the thin material. He was getting nowhere, his mind wandering in aimless and repetitive circles, and if he didn't snap out of it soon, it would be too late.

Yet despite his best efforts he was no closer to an answer as morning shifted subtly into afternoon. Lunch arrived, delivered by the same silent guard who had brought him breakfast a few hours earlier. The paper plate shoved between the cage bars held a simple sandwich, a handful of plain potato chips and an apple. The expected cup of water was pushed in behind the plate. Dean retrieved the meal and returned to his seat on the mattress, sighing as he glanced at the water. "Would it kill them to give a man a proper drink?" he muttered under his breath, placing the cup at his feet and turning his attention to the food. He ate quickly, barely tasting the food, his mind still too full of worry and unease.

He was just finishing the last bites of his apple when movement at the edge of the field caught his attention. He watched as a long procession of vehicles of varying make and model pulled into the clearing, the sun glinting off of hoods and from shiny bumpers. The sheriff led the procession in his squad car, and as the newcomers parked and began to pile from their vehicles, Ty suddenly appeared to greet them. Dean watched from his cage, his lunch turning sour in his stomach.

Flicking the remains of his apple out through the bars, Dean glanced up and down the row of cages, watching the other prisoners' reactions to the new arrivals. Most of them were pressed against the front of their cages, their eyes glued to the group of people surrounding Ty. Their apprehension was clear in their body language…in the tense set of shoulders and the white knuckled grip of fists around prison bars. The man in the cage directly to Dean's right began to mutter something softly under his breath, repeating it over and over again, the tiny snatches that drifted to Dean's ears sounding like phrases from the Hail Mary.

Dean's eyes returned to the crowd across the field. He guessed there to be around seventy men, most of them looking as though they had just stepped from their fancy offices or luxury penthouses. They couldn't have looked more out of place in the wooded clearing…with their polished shoes and fancy suit jackets…and Dean couldn't stop the shake of his head at the absurdity of it all. These were men who had enough money they could buy whatever entertainment they wanted, and yet they chose to spend their money on blood and death. The very sight of them sickened him.

Ty finished whatever speech he had been giving the group, and the men split up, half heading toward the open pavilion that had been set up as some sort of outdoor bar, and the other half drifting toward the long row of cages holding the prisoners. Dean watched their approach with growing anger, his hands clenching into fists at his side. The men spread out, keeping several paces away from the front of the cages as they slowly walked up and down the line of prison cells. Most of them had pieces of paper in their hands and seemed to be taking notes, talking quietly to one another as they observed each of the prisoners one by one.

Dean had to work at keeping his breathing even and smooth, his features expressionless as the men filed slowly by. He felt like an animal in the zoo, being observed and evaluated as the men made silent wagers amongst themselves. Dean felt their eyes on him, curious and calculating, but he refused to meet any of their gazes, his eyes set resolutely on the tree tops across the clearing. He kept his body carefully still and relaxed, his hands lying loosely across his lap, the slow pulse of his jaw muscle the only outward sign betraying his increasing rage.

The steady stream of visitors in front of his cage continued for over an hour, and by the time the men began to move off in the direction of the arena, Dean was almost shaking with the effort of keeping his emotions buried. He felt dirty and unclean, as though the men's eyes had stripped him and left him bare and vulnerable. The skin on the back of his neck and hands were slick with sweat, and his mouth felt dry and pasty.

With a hand kept steady only by the iron force of his will, Dean reached for his cup of water and took several deep swallows. He focused his mind on the coolness of the water, of the feel of it sliding down the back of his throat, of the refreshing wetness across his tongue and lips. By the time he had drained the cup, his heart-rate had slowed and he felt slightly calmer. He took a deep, steadying breath, his palms unconsciously smoothing a pattern across the tops of his thighs.

Ty's "guests" had started to file into the metal bleachers on either side of the arena, their laughter and shouts echoing across the large clearing. Dean watched them, unable to tear his gaze away, the hourglass in his mind's eye spilling the last precious pieces of sand through its tight funnel. He realized he was out of time.

As if on cue with his thoughts, Ty and several guards broke free from the crowd around the arena and walked slowly toward his cage. Dean felt his muscles tightening once again as he watched their approach, knowing that the time for him to make his move had finally come. He didn't hold much hope for success, but he would be damned if he went quietly to his fate without putting up some sort of fight.

Ty stopped a few paces short of Dean's cage, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and caution. "It's time, Winchester," he stated simply, taking a single step closer. "I decided to give you the honor of the first fight. Now I guess we'll see if that smart mouth of yours is backed up with anything besides air."

Dean didn't answer, his mind too occupied with planning out his next move. Ty seemed to be unarmed, though Dean supposed it was possible…even probable… that the man had a weapon tucked away somewhere inside his jacket. The three guards flanking Ty were a different matter, however. All three held rifles at the ready, their features a mask of focused readiness. Dean knew if he were to stand any chance, he would need to find some way to disarm one of the guards and take his gun…hopefully before the other two shot him.

Ty reached up and removed a long chain from around his neck, a single key glistening on the chain. He stepped forward and thrust the key into the lock on Dean's cage, a single twist of his wrist disengaging the lock. He swung the door opened and motioned Dean forward. "No trouble now," he warned, as Dean pushed himself to his feet and approached the cage door. The other guards all took a step closer, their guns shifting restlessly in their hands.

Dean felt a blanket of calm envelop him, the same feeling he often got in the moments before a hunt got violent. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest…feel the tension in his muscles…but his brain seemed somehow disengaged from the physical reactions of his body. He set his focus on his target…the guard standing closest to his cage…and prepared to make his move.

As soon as he ducked down to move through the small door, he felt Ty's hand reach out and grip the back of his neck. He had only a single startled moment of surprise before the man jerked his knee up, straight into Dean's stomach. The blow wasn't as hard as it could have been, but it was still enough to drive the air from his lungs in a startled grunt. Before he could recover his balance, Ty was pushing him to the ground with the hand on his neck, barely giving Dean the chance to get his arms in front of him to break his fall. The next moment he was face down in the soft grass of the field, Ty's knee positioned firmly on the center of his back, the cold bite of a gun's muzzle pressed tightly against his temple.

"You think this is my first rodeo, boy" Ty hissed in his ear, his knee pressing painfully into Dean's back, robbing him of the ability to draw air into his empty lungs. "If I were you, I would save your fight for in the arena. You're going to need it."

Dean struggled to breathe, but the pressure on his back only increased, causing small bursts of light to dance across his vision. Rough hands grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. If there had been any air left in his lungs, Dean would have cried out at the sharp flare of agony that ran from his injured shoulder all the way down his arm as his injured limb objected to the rough treatment. He felt the cold bite of metal against his wrists and heard the sharp click as handcuffs were locked snugly into place. Just when he felt he would surely pass out from lack of oxygen, the weight on him suddenly lifted and he was able to pull in a grateful gasp of air. He wasn't given any time to recover, however, as the guards grabbed his arms and hauled him bodily to his feet, eliciting another flash of pain from his abused shoulder.

Dean was still trying to regain his balance when the guards began to drag him forward, Ty walking calmly beside him, the hilt of a single action revolver gripped tightly in his right hand. "You'll be fighting Ben Langley first," he stated, his voice conversational, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "He's been with us the longest….almost three months now. He's also our youngest. Bright young man, too, with a lot of spirit. The fight should be interesting."

Dean shook his head, wanting to block out Ty's voice. He didn't want to know the name of his soon-to-be opponent…he didn't want to know anything about him. His heart was hammering wildly within his chest while he fought frantically to come up with some way…any way… out of this mess.

They had almost reached the arena, the excited hum of the crowd echoing in the still afternoon air. As they drew near, Dean could see that the wooden planks that made up the fencing of the arena were completely surrounded by a thin wire meshing that rose nearly six feet into the air. The wire mesh effectively blocked anyone trapped inside the arena from attempting to escape over or under the wooden fence, while remaining discreet enough the watching spectators could easily see the action going on within its confines. The mesh fencing overlapped slightly in one spot—the obvious entry point to the arena, and it was to this area that his guards half led, half dragged him.

"Get him ready," Ty ordered, motioning to one of the guards standing nearby. The guard pulled a wicked looking knife from a sheath at his belt, and Dean felt himself tense. The men on either side of him tightened their grips, holding him steady between them while their companion with the knife stepped closer.

"Hold real still, now," the guard with the knife ordered with a smirk. He reached out and grabbed the hem of Dean's shirt, pulling the fabric tight. Then, with three quick slices, he cut the material away, leaving Dean bare chested but for the amulet hanging around his neck. "That's better now," he commented, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Gotta let the customers have a good look at ya now, don't we?"

Dean's stomach curled in disgust at the man's words, and he turned his head to one side to spit out the sour taste in his mouth. The guards holding him only laughed.

"You won't be needing this," Ty commented lightly, stepping in front of Dean and reaching for his amulet. Dean attempted to jerk back, but the guards holding him prevented him from going very far. Ty grabbed hold of the amulet and jerked, breaking the cord holding the charm around Dean's neck.

"Son of a …" Dean's curse ended in a growl as he glared daggers at the man standing before him.

Ty threw him a mocking half smile as he stuffed the amulet into his coat pocket. "Here comes Ben," he stated, glancing over Dean's shoulder. "Unlock his cuffs, boys…it's show-time."

The guards holding Dean forced him forward until he was pressed against the arena's fencing, right next to the overlap in the mesh wire. He felt a sharp tug at his wrists and then the cuffs snapped free. At the same moment, another guard opened the mesh wire and Dean was shoved roughly forward into the open area of the arena. He stumbled forward, the grassy ground of the field giving way to the loosely packed sand that blanketed the floor of the arena.

At his entrance, the noise from the stands increased dramatically, jeers and catcalls raining down on Dean from either side of the small enclosure. As he had done before, Dean resolutely ignored the crowd, turning his attention back toward the small entrance to the arena. He watched as his opponent arrived and underwent the same treatment he had, his shirt being expertly cut from his body and his cuffs removed. Then, the wire mesh was peeled back one more time, and Ben entered the arena, his eyes locked on Dean, his features tense and alert.

The calls from the stands became even more loud and frantic as both men faced off, but Dean resolutely blocked the noise from his mind, his entire focus centered on the young man before him.

"You know what to do, boys." Ty's voice range from somewhere off to the side, outside the arena. "Refuse to fight, and we'll bring in the wild dogs and let them tear you to pieces!"

Dean couldn't stop the shudder that wracked his body at the mention of wild dogs. His one experience with the not-so-wild Rocky was enough to convince him he wanted nothing to do with anything canine.

Without a word, Ben began to slowly circle to Dean's right, and Dean mirrored his movement to the left, the two men sizing one another up across the soft sand of the arena. Ben was not exactly a large man, but he was tall…nearly as tall as Sam…and his arms and chest showed the defined muscle of a man of athletic tendencies. His features were wary, and his eyes glinted with something akin to desperation.

"I don't want to have to do this," he muttered, his voice lost to all but Dean under the loud shouts of the crowd.

"You and me both, man," Dean answered, his face twisted in a grimace.

The sounds of the crowd were beginning to get ugly, the spectators screaming down at the two opponents, obviously impatient for the bloodletting to begin. Dean saw Ben's face suddenly set in steely determination, and he braced his feet in preparation for the charge he knew would soon be coming. A heartbeat later, Ben flung himself forward, his right fist swinging around in a blow designed to send Dean reeling. The blow never landed. Dean pivoted easily to one side, dodging Ben's fist and using the tall man's momentum against him as he grabbed his left wrist and flung him away…across the arena. Ben stumbled and almost went down, but quickly regained his balance and swung around to face Dean once more, his fists raised into a fighting position.

Dean didn't press the attack, his mind still not fully committed to the fight. A part of him realized that he had little choice…that in the end it boiled down to kill or be killed. But another part of him stubbornly hung on to the hope that there was some other option…that as long as he was patient, a way out would be provided. It was a foolish hope, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself from believing it anyway.

Ben launched himself forward once more, crying out in desperate anger as he charged Dean, his fists raised and ready to strike. Dean let him come, waiting until the man was within striking distance before dodging to one side once more, his movements lighting quick, his left fist flashing out in a sharp jab to Ben's side as the man sailed past.

Dean knew the blow had to have been painful, but Ben barely hesitated as he swung back around and flung himself at Dean once again. The next several minutes passed much as the first few had, with Ben repeatedly pressing the attack while Dean dodged and ducked every blow aimed at him, occasionally landing his own hit on his opponent's chest or side, but causing little real damage. Ben's face was soon red with a combination of effort and frustration, but Dean was barely breathing heavily.

But if Ben was growing frustrated with the course the fight was taking, it was nothing compared to the discontent of the watching crowd. As the minutes wore on they were becoming increasingly restless, their shouts and insults growing steadily in volume. Dean knew he wouldn't be allowed to remain on the defensive for much longer before Ty found some way to step in and force the fight to the next level.

True enough, a moment later, after dodging yet another attack from his opponent, Dean's steps took him a little too close to the side of the arena. Without warning, one of the guards standing outside the fencing thrust a narrow pole through one of the holes in the wire meshing and straight into Dean's unprotected back. The blow was unexpected, and Dean sucked in a harsh breath as the roughened end of the pole dug a deep scratch across the bare skin of his exposed back. He stumbled forward, momentarily caught off balance.

It was the moment Ben had been waiting for, and the tall man attacked without hesitation, slamming the full weight of his body into Dean before he could regain his footing and dodge out of the way once more. Both men fell backward in a tangle of limbs, and a moment later Dean felt his right shoulder slam violently against one of the wooden planks marking the boundary of the arena.

White hot pain shot through his arm from shoulder to fingertips, and Dean couldn't hold back a small cry of pain. A moment later, Ben's weight slammed into him once more, driving him to the sandy ground of the arena. Dean tried to roll to one side, but Ben was on him before he could move, the young man straddling his waste and driving his fist viciously into the side of Dean's head.

Stars exploded across Dean's vision and he attempted to raise his arms to protect his head. His right arm, however, was refusing to function, and his left arm provided only moderate protection as Ben repeatedly slammed his fists into Dean's head and face.

Dean knew he had to act quickly or he would be in serious trouble. Already his vision was growing fuzzy and he could taste the coppery tang of blood on his lips and inside his mouth. Instincts kicking in, he violently twisted his hips, the sudden movement throwing Ben off balance, the tall man's weight shifting ever so slightly. It was enough. Dean snapped the elbow of his left arm straight up into Ben's face, feeling the satisfying crunch of impact. At the same time, he twisted his hips again, this time in the opposite direction.

Ben fell away from him with a howl of pain, his hands coming up to cup his nose, and Dean was able to roll away. Both men slowly pushed themselves to their feet, their chests heaving from the brief but brutal battle, their skin slick with a mixture of both sweat and blood. The crowd was on its feet around them, screaming their encouragement and lust in an unintelligible roar.

Dean shook his head, droplets of sweat flying from his hair as he attempted to blink away the dots dancing across his vision. His right arm hung useless and limp at his side, and he could feel the heat and swelling along the side of his face and jaw from Ben's violent blows.

Luckily, Ben looked in no better shape, with blood pouring in a crimson sheet from his nose down across his lips and chin. He seemed hesitant to press his attack again, and Dean was more than willing to wait the man out.

Unfortunately, the crowd had other ideas. As their cries became increasingly frantic, Dean caught movement from the corner of his eye as one of the guards opened the mesh netting and tossed something into the sand at the center of the arena before quickly ducking out of the enclosure once more. Dean's gaze snapped to the object lying innocently in the sand a few paces away, his heart skipping a few wild beats as the sun glinted off the long blade of a wicked looking machete.

Ben had seen the weapon as well, and time seemed to slow as both men looked from the deadly looking blade to each other and then back again. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the spell was broken, and both men leaped forward toward the machete, desperation lending them speed. Unfortunately for Dean, Ben was several steps closer to the blade than he was. With a howl of triumph, he grabbed the handle of the machete and swung wildly, forcing Dean to dodge quickly to one side to avoid being split in two.

Dean cautiously backed away, his eyes glued to the sharp blade in Ben's hands. He swallowed hard, wondering if his cautious approach earlier might have just bought him a trip to an early grave. Ben advanced on him steadily, his eyes taking on a wild light as he held the weapon before him in a two handed grip.

Suddenly, Dean felt the wooden planks of the arena fence at his back, and he realized he had run out of room to retreat. At the same moment, Ben launched himself forward in an attack, the machete swinging in a wild arc for Dean's neck.

Dean acted without thought. Leaning back into the arena fence for support, he brought one leg up and snapped it out with all the force he could muster, his booted foot connecting with Ben's forearm just as the man started to swing the blade of the machete forward. Such was the force of Dean's blow that the forward momentum of the machete's blade was not only stopped…it was reversed.

It happened in less than a blink of an eye. Ben, not suspecting the kick, had thrown himself forward into the blow. When Dean's booted foot connected with his forearm, he had only a second to register shocked surprise before the sharp point of his own blade dipped suddenly backward...straight toward his exposed neck.

A fountain of scarlet blood sprayed across the golden sand of the arena. Ben dropped the machete and stumbled backward, both hands rising to grasp at the gaping wound on the side of his neck.

Dean, his back still pressed firmly against the wooden planks of the arena fence, could only stare in stunned surprise, shocked at the sudden violent turn of events. Ben staggered back a few more steps, bright blood bubbling between his fingers, his eyes locked on Dean. His expression was full of shocked disbelief melting slowly into pained realization. Dean looked into the man's frightened eyes, and felt his breath catch in his chest. Suddenly it was no longer Ben he was seeing, but Sam…his brother's eyes filled with pain and fear as they silently pleaded with Dean to _save him_.

With a cry, Dean lunged forward, his hands reaching out just in time to catch Ben as he slowly collapsed to the ground, his blood running in a crimson stream from between his fingers, his breath coming in strangled gasps. Dean carefully lowered the man the rest of the way to the ground, his own hands moving up to cover Ben's over the hideous wound. He could no longer hear the yells of the crowd…was no longer aware of his surroundings, his entire focus on the dying man in his arms.

"It's okay," he crooned softly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. "Just relax. "It's going to be okay."

Ben's eyes were locked on his, terrified and desperate, and Dean couldn't tear his gaze away as he continued to murmur empty words of comfort. He could feel Ben's hot blood against his fingers as the man's stubborn heart continued to attempt to pump blood through his failing body. Ben's breathes were coming in short, sharp pants, and his eyes were beginning to glaze over, loosing focus.

Suddenly, Dean felt hands reaching out to grip him, pulling him away. He struggled weakly against their hold on him, but it was as though someone had pulled the plug on his remaining reserve of energy, and his resistance was feeble at best.

As he was dragged away, Dean's final view was of Ben's motionless body lying discarded and forgotten in the uncaring sand of the arena.

* * *

Sam was fighting for his life.

Every muscle in his body was pulled taught, straining against the angry waters of the river, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. The fingers of his left hand were clasped desperately around a small cluster of branches overhanging the river bank, the current pulling and dragging at his body in an attempt to break his tenuous hold and carry him away. Sam clenched his jaw in steely determination and stubbornly held on.

He had no idea how far downriver the current had carried him. His initial fall into the frigid waters had served to snap him back to his senses, but the damage was already done. The river had him, and showed no intention of giving him up easily. He had attempted to get his feet back under him, but his balance was gone and the fast moving currents had swept him away like so much driftwood, rocking and tossing his body about in dizzying circles. It had been all Sam could do to try and keep his head above water while avoiding the various rocks and boulders jutting up from the riverbed like the broken teeth of a giant.

Sam had eventually begun to fight back against the current, kicking his long legs in an effort to stabilize himself. Orienting on the shore, he had begun to awkwardly swim toward land, his movements made slow and clumsy by his injured right arm. By the time he had spotted the thick bush sitting close to the river's edge...its leafy branches jutting out over the water…he was fighting exhaustion. With a final desperate kick of his legs, he had just barely managed to reach out and grab a fistful of the branches as the current swept him by.

Now, clinging to his feeble lifeline, it was all he could do to keep his grip steady in the face of the wild tremors racking his body. He was numbingly cold, and his desperate swim toward the shore had left him beyond exhausted. The bank of the river was tantalizingly close, only a few short feet away, but in his exhausted state he wasn't at all sure he would be able to pull himself ashore. The icy fingers of the river played over his tense body, caressing and teasing him, promising him rest if he would only relax…only let go.

There is a saying that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

Sam had never really paid much attention to the saying before, but as he shivered in the icy waters of the river, an odd assortment of visions and memories flooded randomly through his foggy mind…disjointed and fragmented…flashes in time that came and went in the single blink of an eye.

_He was five and learning to ride his bike without training wheels for the first time._

_He was at Stanford, swinging Jessica around in his arms for a passionate kiss._

_He was seventeen and had just scored the winning point in his high school's championship basketball game._

_He was lying on the hard floor of their old home in Lawrence, gasping in lungful's of air as his brother pulled him up into a quick embrace._

Sam groaned, fighting against the disorientation brought on by the river's cold. The steady flow of memories continued flashing through his mind, as though someone had triggered a slideshow in his brain, the images playing randomly…with no particular order or structure to them.

_His father was watching him in approval as Sam cast the matches into the grave of his first salt-and-burn._

_Dean was grinning at him from across a hotel room, the bed before him covered in an odd assortment of weapons._

_He was jumping from a hotel balcony into the crystal blue waters of the pool below._

Every time Sam blinked his eyes, another memory-vision would flash behind his closed lids. As the minutes wore on, Sam was finding it more and more difficult to distinguish reality from memory as his tired body began to succumb to the icy embrace of the river.

"_I've tried so hard to keep you safe…"_

This time it wasn't a vision, but the soft whisper of a remembered conversation. Sam pulled open heavy lids that he hadn't even realized he'd closed. With a jolt of panic, he realized his grip on the branches was beginning to slip.

"No!" he growled, the single word carrying with it the heavy weight of his determination. Fighting back against his exhaustion, he reached out with his injured arm and grabbed hold of the branches. Then, slowly but steadily…hand over hand…he began pulling himself along the rough limbs toward the bank of the river. As he drew nearer to the shore, the violent pull of the water began to ease and his legs were able to find purchase on the bottom of the river. With an agonized groan he heaved himself forward, his chest and stomach sliding heavily onto the bank. He lay there for a moment, his legs still drifting in the river's current, breathing deeply of the rich scent of the earth beneath his cheek.

Eventually he rallied enough strength to pull himself the rest of the way out of the water, but he didn't get far before collapsing once again, his body trembling heavily from a mixture of cold and exhaustion. He knew he needed to get up…get moving to help warm his frozen limbs, but he couldn't seem to get his body to obey his mind's commands. The heavy weight of his fatigue was like a blanket, weighing him down and anchoring him to the ground. His body ached and throbbed with every heartbeat, and oblivion called to him with the sweet promise of relief. His heavy lids slid shut without his permission, and with a small sigh of submission he finally allowed his battered body to give in to the waiting darkness.

"_What are you doing, son?"_

_Sam's eyes snapped open and he jerked upright on the lumpy sofa where he had fallen asleep. He blinked bleary eyes up at his father, trying to shake his head clear of the sleep induced fuzziness._

"_I told you to make sure you were ready." John scowled down at him in disapproval, the look so familiar to Sam it immediately triggered his defensiveness._

"_I _am_ ready," he retorted quickly, though he wasn't yet sure exactly what it was he was supposed to be ready for. He stared up at his father defiantly, daring his father to contradict him._

_John let out a small huff, his shaggy head shaking slowly back and forth. Surprisingly, he let the argument go, turning and striding out the nearest door with a simple "come on" thrown over his shoulder at Sam._

_Sam swallowed his irritation and hurried to follow, knowing his father was not one to ask twice. He stepped through the door and then drew up short, surprised to find himself in the middle of a grassy field. There was no sign of his father, and for a minute Sam was overwhelmed with a sense of confusion._

_A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Sam jumped, swinging around in surprise. His brother stood directly behind him, a small grin flashing across his handsome features. "Getting a little rusty there, kiddo…letting me sneak up on you like that." Dean's voice was teasing, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that immediately caught Sam's attention._

"_What's going on?" Sam asked, glancing around the grassy field. "Where's dad?"_

_Something shifted in Dean's eyes and his expression went suddenly blank. "Gone," he said simply. "Are you ready?"_

_Sam stared at his brother, surprised by the question. He shrugged his shoulders, glancing once around the grassy field. "Yeah, sure," he answered simply, once again not completely understanding what he was supposed to be ready for._

_Dean's eyes narrowed. "Are you, Sammy?" he asked quietly, his features turning suddenly intense. "You have to be _sure_!"_

_Sam felt a flash of irritation. Why did his family keep asking him if he was ready? Ready for what? He closed his eyes to get a handle on his emotions, and when he opened them again, Dean and the meadow were both gone. _

_He blinked his eyes, surprised to find himself standing in a very familiar kitchen, a cold beer held loosely in one hand. He heard the bell like call of a familiar laugh, and a moment later Jessica appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, her long blond hair falling about her shoulders in a shimmering wave, her eyes dancing with life._

_Sam felt something clench inside him…a longing and need so fierce it stole his breathe. Without thought he opened his arms, and Jessica floated to him, sinking into his embrace with another small laugh. Sam buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her and relishing the feel of her hair as it tickled the side of his face. A sense of peace and contentment settled over him, and he thought he could stand like this forever…holding the girl he loved…and never move again._

_Jessica eventually pulled back, smiling up into his face without releasing her hold around his waist. "Are you ready?" she asked simply._

_Sam drew in a sharp breath at the question, staring down into her face with confusion, the answer he had been so quick to give his father and brother dying on his tongue. "Ready for what?" he asked instead, his voice sounding hoarse and unsteady._

_Jessica's smile never faded, but her eyes reflected a deep sadness as she lifted one hand and gently traced her fingers down one side of his face. "To be alone," she replied softly, the words so quiet Sam barely heard them._

_Before he could react to the whispered words, Jessica suddenly burst into flames in his arms, the heat scorching his arms and his face in a searing flash of agony. He yelled, pushing away from her more from instinct than conscious thought. He stumbled back, opening his mouth to cry out a denial, when suddenly the world shifted around him once more and the kitchen and Jessica were suddenly gone._

_Choking on a sob, Sam fell to his knees, feeling the sharp sting of gravel pierce through his jeans. He looked up to see a tall, run-down warehouse towering before him, the broken out windows staring down at him like empty eyes. Sam pushed himself back to his feet, his body trembling in sudden apprehension. A flash of movement in one of the empty windows caught his attention, and his breath caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of his brother's familiar leather jacket moving past the small opening._

"_Dean!" he screamed, not knowing what was going to happen, but certain that _something_ was._

_He saw his brother hesitate next to the window, slowly turning to peer down at him. Their eyes met for the barest hint of a second before an explosion ripped through the warehouse and Dean disappeared in a blinding flash of light and heat. Sam didn't even have a chance to scream as the force of the explosion picked him up and tossed him backward through the air._

_And then he was falling…falling backward into darkness and pain._

_Alone._

Sam jerked awake, gagging and retching as his stomach clenched in painful spasms. He was barely able to push himself up to his hands and knees before he promptly vomited copious amounts of river water into the soft soil beside him. As soon as the heaving stopped, he collapsed back down to his side, a low moan bubbling up from his throat.

His nightmare and subsequent sickness had left him shaking and weak, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on getting his breathing back under control. His abused ribs were screaming their protest and his arm felt as though someone was sticking him with a red hot poker.

At least he wasn't so cold anymore. Sam realized that while his clothes were still definitely damp, he was no longer soaking wet. He glanced up at the sky, noting from the sun's position that it was late afternoon. He realized he had been asleep for at least three hours, probably more.

Sam felt the heavy weight of despair settle over him. His trip down the river and subsequent nap had set him back enough that he knew there would be no reaching town before nightfall. He would get as far as he could, but there was no doubt that he would be spending another cold and lonely night out in the wild. And the last thing Sam wanted right now was to be alone. His nightmare haunted him, and he felt desperate to get back to town and find his brother.

Sam took a deep breath and began to push himself upright, when the sudden sound of cracking branches and rustling leaves echoed to him from several yards upstream. He froze, immediately thinking of the bears that surely must use this river as a hunting ground. His eyes cast around desperately for anything he could use as a weapon to defend himself, when his mind suddenly registered the muted sound of voices.

Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he strained his ears, thinking for a moment that his tired mind must be playing tricks on him. A moment later, however, he heard the voices again, snatches of a conversation that was still too distant for him to make out.

He felt a flare of hope ignite in his chest, tempered almost immediately by a sense of caution. He knew the sheriff had been planning on sending men out to look for him, and he had no way of knowing if the voices he heard belonged to potential friends of foes. He carefully lowered himself until he was lying flat on the ground once more, listening intently as the sounds of passage drew steadily nearer. The voices had fallen silent, but a few moments later they started up again, this time close enough that Sam could make out most of what they were saying.

"…almost there. I can hear the river." The voice was rough and gravelly, as though its owner had smoked one too many packs of cigarettes.

"We'd better be," a second voice responded, this one sounding high pitched and belligerent. "He's freakin heavy!"

"What are you whining about?" Hoarse voice barked back, his voice sounding slightly strained. "_You_ got his legs! _I'm_ carrying the heavy part!"

"Yeah, but this aint your fourth time down here!" his companion argued back. "This seriously sucks! I'll never get this blood out of my shirt."

"Well maybe if you hadn't mouthed off to Ty this morning, Roy, you might not have gotten stuck with the dirty work." Hoarse voice retorted shortly.

The sounds of crunching leaves grew even closer and Sam held his breath, wondering if he was about to be discovered. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of the men's conversation and was suddenly keen to remain hidden. The large bush next to him offered him some concealment, but not if the men came straight toward him. Suddenly the footsteps stopped and he heard one of the men let out a sharp grunt followed by the muted thump of something heavy falling to the ground.

"Shit, man," Roy's voice sound slightly out of breath. "I don't understand why we have to haul them all down here in the first place. Why can't we just burn the corpses up at the camp…save us all this hassle?"

"It's not my place to ask questions," Rough voice responded magnanimously. "I just do what I'm told. Ty's always burned 'em down here…the day after it's all over. Then he just buries whatever the fire leaves behind."

Sam frowned, still lying silent and unmoving in his hiding place. He was tempted to peak around the bush to try and get a glimpse of the two men, but he feared any movement on his part might reveal his presence. The more the men talked, the less Sam liked what he was hearing. He recognized Ty's name from Rawly's conversation with his deputy, and was fairly certain that whatever was going on around here, that man was at the center of it.

"Well…help me move this grate over the hole, then," Roy snapped. "Though if you ask me, it would be doing us a favor if the wild animals got in here and dragged them all away. Save havin' to burn them later!"

This comment only received a grunt in reply, followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the ground.

"Alright," Rough voice huffed a moment later. "Now that's done, let's get back up to camp. They'll be starting the second round of fighting soon, and I don't want to miss it!"

"Got a bet on someone, Trevor?" Roy asked, his voice fading slightly as the men turned away and headed back in the direction they had come.

"Got me five hundred on the blackie," the man named Trevor responded. "He's a fighter for sure! Put down his last opponent in under five minutes. They didn't even have to give him a weapon…he just broke the poor bastards neck!"

Roy's response was lost to Sam as the two men moved further away, the sounds of their footsteps fading slowly to silence. Sam waited a full minute after they had gone before pushing himself slowly to his feet. He bit back a small groan as his body protested the movement. His right arm felt stiff and swollen, and a glance down told him he would need to change out the dressing for a new one soon. But first things first…

Moving slowly around the bush, he approached the area where the two men had been standing moments before, his stomach clenching in sudden apprehension. He could make out a large hole dug in the soft earth near the river bank, a webbing of branches and rope forming a rough covering over the top of the hole, with four large rocks weighing down the edges of the covering. As Sam moved nearer, a tangy smell filled his nostrils, the scent familiar in a way that sent a shiver down the back of his neck.

Stepping to the edge of the hole, he glanced down through the branch covering, then immediately looked away, his body shuddering in horror and disgust. He clenched his jaw tightly, fighting to control the hot wave of anger sweeping through his body. Taking a steadying breath, he returned his gaze to the contents of the pit, his eyes traveling sadly over the tangle of bloody limbs lying haphazardly at the bottom of the shallow hole. He counted four bodies, each clad only in a black pair of sweat pants, their still forms smeared with dark blood.

Sam stepped back away from the hole, his eyes turning in the direction the two men's voices had disappeared. He was surprised to see what looked like a narrow trail angling away from the river and into the trees. He hesitated for only a moment before heading in the direction of the trail.

He knew it could be dangerous…following the men…but years of hunting had ingrained in him the instinct to track down anything out of the ordinary…anything evil. Even inured and hurting, he couldn't resist the desire to figure out what the hell was going on.

As he moved cautiously down the trail he began to piece together the snatches of conversation he had overhead, pulling what information he could out of them. He didn't have a whole lot to go on, but Sam had a quick mind, and it didn't take him long to form a rough idea of what he thought might be going on. Roy and Trevor had both mentioned something about a fight, and if the bodies back by the river were any indication, it wasn't your typical kind of fight. Somewhere before him, men were battling to the death, and Sam needed to figure out the how and why of it.

He was a little short on details, but somehow he knew that everything that was going on centered around the missing hikers. It was the only thing that made sense. Rawly had tried to kill Sam after he had started asking questions about the hikers, making it fairly obvious that he was trying to cover up something. Whatever he and Dean had stumbled on here, it was something big

Shaking his head, Sam started up the trail once more, breathing heavily as the path began to slope sharply upward. As soon as he had gathered more information, he would focus on getting back to town and finding his brother. Dean would be pissed to find out they weren't dealing with a spirit or other unnatural entity after all. He knew Dean didn't like to get involved in issues that weren't strictly supernatural in nature, but Sam felt confident he could convince his brother to make an exception this one time. After all, this whole thing had become somewhat personal to Sam when Rawly had shot him. There was no way in hell he was going to leave this one alone.

And of course, when it came down to it, neither would Dean. After all, someone had hurt his little brother, and Sam knew that Dean didn't handle that too well. It was a protective streak that had been ingrained in Dean from the moment his brother had carried him from their burning home in Lawrence. As soon as Dean saw Sam's injuries and learned the cause of them, he would be furious. Sam couldn't help the small smirk that flitted across his face at the thought of sheriff Rawly facing the wrath of his big brother. Dean was downright scary when angry…he would rip the sheriff to pieces if given the chance.

Sam smiled somewhat wistfully as his mind took him back to other instances where his brother had acted the protector. Sam hadn't hit his growth spurt until later than most of the kids in his age group, which often made him the smallest in his class. As such, he had always seemed to attract the bullies. That is, until they encountered his older brother for the first time. Sam had never been bullied more than once in any one school they had attended…Dean had seen to that. Dean had always protected him.

_Dean still protects me_, Sam thought seriously. It was different, now, sure…but it was also the Sam. The bullies threatening Sam were just a little more dangerous now.

A sudden loud roar of noise from somewhere not far in front of him caused Sam to stumble, jerking his thoughts back to the present. He slowed his steps, trying to peer through the thick trees around him to find the source of the noise. It came again…the clear sound of a crowd shouting and cheering. Sam rounded a sharp bend in the trail, then immediately dropped to a crouch, moving from the open trail to the thick cover of the trees beside him. Before him, the path opened into a large clearing, and he could see the backs of several large tents before him.

The sounds of the crowd were growing louder, but Sam couldn't see the source from his current position, the tents blocking his view of the rest of the clearing. Creeping forward warily, his eyes sweeping the area around him, he cautiously left the cover of the trees and raced for the shadows of the nearest tent. Once there, he carefully inched forward until he could peer around the side of the tent, his body tense and ready to bolt back to the trees at the first indication he had been spotted. His fear was unfounded, however, as the area around him seemed completely deserted.

Another loud roar from the crowd drew his attention, his eyes seeking out the cause of the commotion. It was not hard to find. A small arena stood at the center of the clearing, flanked by two metal bleachers. The noise was coming from the crowd lining the bleachers, but they were not what drew Sam's immediate gaze. Two figures stood locked in a desperate struggle in the center of the arena, their bodies slick with sweat, their hands locked around each other's wrists. Both men held weapons; long daggers with sharp looking points, and as Sam watched, they shuffled back and forth across the sand of the arena, each one obviously attempting to break the others hold on their wrist so they could make use of the deadly weapon.

The fighter facing Sam's direction was a large black man, tall and heavily muscled, his features set in rock hard determination. His opponent was much smaller, but seemed to be somehow miraculously holding his own against his larger assailant…at least for the time being.

Despite himself, Sam stood transfixed by the vicious struggle going on before him, unable to tear his gaze away from the life and death battle. Even as he watched, the large black man made his move. With a roar of pure power, he jerked his smaller opponent close to him, then just as quickly thrust him away, twisting his body forcefully so that his rival was thrown off balance. Sam watched as the smaller man was thrown bodily to the arena floor, not quite managing to twist away from the black man's sweeping blade.

The crowd screamed in excitement as crimson blood splashed across the sand of the arena, but if they thought the fight was over, they were in for a surprise. Using both his legs as a ram, the fallen man kicked at the knees of his approaching opponent, causing the black man to stumble back and away. Using the brief respite, the shorter man rolled to the side and quickly pushed himself to his feet, his bare chest and stomach covered in bright red blood.

For the first time, the second fighter stood facing Sam's direction, and Sam felt all the air leave his chest in a sudden exhale of horror. His heart stopped beating, his eyes widening in shocked recognition as time seemed to grind to a halt.

_It can't be,_ he thought numbly, staring at the man bleeding at the center of the arena. _No!_

But there was no denying his own eyes, and Sam couldn't hold back the horrified whisper of fear that crawled from his chest.

"Dean!"

* * *

_Evil little cliffy, I know. But at least the boys are back together again…er…sort of. If you are so inclined, let me know what you think…I value each and every review I receive!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** _Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while._

**Summary: **_While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2._

**A/N**: _Special thanks to Sojourns, tictak, Anon, deanssammy, and DearHart. I am so glad you all are enjoying the story and hope this chapter meets up to expectations. _

**Chapter 6**

For the second time in one day, Dean wondered if he was about to die.

He stumbled back across the soft sand of the arena, breathing hard as he attempted to put some distance between himself and his attacker while he regained his balance. Fiery pain lanced low across his chest, and he could feel the warm wetness of his blood flowing freely down his ribs and across his stomach. His opponent's blade had sliced deep, and Dean was only too aware of how close he had come to being gutted. Another few inches, and his intestines would have been spread across the arena floor. His heart was pounding a frantic tempo inside his chest, and he knew it was pure, desperate adrenaline that had allowed him to fend off his attacker long enough to gain his feet.

The cheers and screams of the crowd echoed loudly in the late afternoon air, but Dean forced the noise from his consciousness, focusing instead on his large opponent. With an effort of will, he pushed the pain of his injury to the back of his mind, to be brought forward and acknowledged later…if he survived.

It didn't take long for his opponent to regain his balance and start to stalk toward him once again, his bloodstained blade held out confidently before him. Dean watched his approach warily, taking a small step back even as he desperately weighed his options. As much as he hated to admit it, his adversary was both bigger and stronger than him, which meant Dean didn't stand much chance in a battle of strength—as the cut across his lower chest could certainly attest to. If he were to stand any chance at all, he would need to depend on his speed and quick reflexes, and avoid allowing his opponent to work him into a corner where he could easily pin him down.

Without warning, the black man darted forward, his knife sweeping in a deadly arc toward Dean's face. Dean's own blade snapped up to meet it, the two weapons colliding with a metallic clang as steel slid along steel. Dean slashed back immediately with a counterstroke, but his opponent batted his blade away with ease. Dean found himself on the defensive, blocking several more slashes in a lightening quick barrage of razor sharp steel. The black man was good, his movements precise and sharp, making it obvious that he was no novice when it came to fighting with a blade. But of course, neither was Dean, and he met his adversary strike for strike, his knife always rising to sweep the man's blade away from his flesh at seemingly the last moment. Even as they fought, Dean made sure he kept moving, keeping enough distance between himself and his attacker so that the larger man couldn't reach out and grab him.

After a few minutes of frantic battle they broke apart…taking small steps back and regarding each other across the soft sand of the arena, their chests heaving as they fought to catch their breath. Their reprieve was brief, however, and as if on cue they both moved forward in unison, their blades clashing together in another series of thrusts and parries. Just as Dean had suspected, he was slightly quicker than his larger opponent, and as the battle wore on, he was able to score several nicks and cuts across the man's arm and upper body. The wounds were far from serious, however, and they did nothing to slow the intensity in his adversary's attack. Dean, on the other hand, was quickly growing weary as the blood from his wound steadily leeched him of vital strength and energy.

The two combatants broke apart once again…their ragged breathing completely lost in the roar of the crowd. As Dean warily watched his opponent for any sign of his next attack, his mind suddenly flashed back to another fight…one that had taken place many years before, when he was only thirteen. He had been walking back to the hotel after a late night run to the convenient store when two boys had jumped him. Both boys were much older and bigger than him, and they'd had a knife. Dean had fought back as best he could, but in the end they had left him beaten and bloody, relieving him of all the cash he'd been carrying. When his father had returned from a hunt the next day, Dean had expected him to be furious about the lost money, but his father hadn't said a word about the cash. Instead…when Dean had sufficiently healed from his injuries …John had taken him out to an abandoned field at the edge of town. His father had spent several hours showing Dean different pressure points and nerve clusters in the human body that could be used to quickly drop an enemy…even one bigger and stronger than yourself.

Now…standing in the bloody sand of the arena…his father's lesson came back to him with crystal clarity, and he suddenly knew what he needed to do. It would not be easy, and there was a good chance he would get himself stabbed in the process, but Dean knew he was quickly running out of time and options.

All of this flashed through his mind in the space of a few heartbeats, and Dean felt new resolve lend fresh energy to his tired limbs. His grip on the hilt of his knife tightened in the same instant his opponent charged forward to renew his attack.

Dean took a quick step back, then brought his right foot sweeping forward through the sand of the arena, kicking up a spray of dirt straight into the face of his charging foe. The large man flinched, ducking his head quickly to one side to avoid the flying sand. In that single instant of distraction, Dean made his move. He darted forward, his right arm raising his knife to block the clumsy swing his opponent aimed his way. Then, quick as lightning, he dropped to one knee, driving his left hand forward in a sharp blow aimed directly for the side of the man's knee. The blow hit dead on, causing the large man's leg to buckle beneath him. Even as his opponent fell, Dean was rising, his hand flashing out twice more, the blows quick and precise. The first strike landed on the man's wrist, sending his knife spinning away across the arena. Dean's second blow…an opened handed chop… struck home with all the force he could muster, straight into the joint where shoulder meets neck. His aim was true, and without so much as a grunt, the large man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed, boneless, to the ground at Dean's feet.

It all happened so fast that it took the screaming crowd several moments to comprehend what they had seen. Once they did, their shouts faded into abrupt, shocked silence. For what seemed like an eternity the harsh sound of Dean's heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard.

Then, suddenly, the crowd erupted in cheers, many of them chanting his name, their cries reaching an almost feverish pitch.

Dean swallowed hard as he stared down at the crumpled form at his feet, his knife still gripped tightly in his right hand. He could feel his adrenaline slowly fading, leaving him weak and shaky. Without the fight to keep his focus, the pain of the cut across his chest slammed into him full force, and he had to widen his stance slightly as he swayed, trying to stay on his feet as the crowd screamed and cheered around him.

Suddenly, Ty was standing before him, two other guards moving around to flank Dean from behind, their rifles held at the ready across their chests. Ty's expression was one of surprised appreciation as he looked Dean up and down before casting a dismissing glance at the unconscious form at his feet.

"Finish it," he ordered simply, gesturing at the knife held tightly in Dean's fist.

Dean frowned at him in momentary confusion before realization hit home and his eyes widened in sudden understanding. He glanced down at the unconscious man at his feet, his stomach clenching. When he lifted his gaze back up to Ty, his expression was hard. "No," he said simply, his reply lost to all but Ty in the noise of the crowd.

Ty's eyes narrowed, his expression tightening. "Finish it!" he repeated, his voice sharper. "You might want to hurry, before he wakes up."

Dean's jaw clenched, and in reply he cast the knife he held down into the sand at his feet, his features defiant.

Slowly, the noise of the crowd began to fade once more as the men in the stands became aware of the silent showdown happening on the arena floor.

Ty's features were a mass of tightly controlled anger as he reached into his jacket and withdrew his revolver, pointing the weapon straight at Dean's chest. "Pick up the damn knife and kill him," he ordered harshly through clenched teeth.

Silence descended like a blanket across the arena as everyone watched and waited to see what Dean would do.

Dean looked at the barrel of the gun pointed at him, his heart picking up speed. He knew if he refused Ty's command he was a dead man, and almost against his will his eyes dropped to where the knife lay in the sand by his feet. He could feel his body shaking, every ounce of his strength directed at keeping him upright…on his feet. If he bent over to pick up the knife right now, he wasn't at all sure he wouldn't end up face first in the sand of the arena.

His eyes darted to the unconscious man at his feet. A few moments ago the man had been set on killing him…had in fact come damn close to succeeding. If their positions were reversed now, Dean had no doubt the black man wouldn't hesitate to slit his throat and end his life. And yet as Dean stared at his limp form, he couldn't bring himself to hate the man, or even to blame him really. The man was nothing more than a pawn in Ty's convoluted game…same as Dean…same as Ben…same as all the other poor bastards who had lost their lives that day for the sick entertainment of a blood-thirsty crowd.

Quite frankly, Dean was tired of dancing on someone else's string. Killing an opponent in the heat of battle while acting in self-defense was one thing, but that was not what Ty was asking him to do now. The black man at his feet was completely helpless, and Dean knew there was no way he would be able to kill him in cold blood.

He raised his eyes to meet Ty's gaze, his features set in cold defiance. He made no move to pick up his discarded knife, but merely raised his chin and stared back at his captor with calm challenge. His mind flashed briefly to his brother, but Dean brutally pushed all thoughts of Sam away, knowing they would only serve to steal his resolve.

Ty's features darkened with barely suppressed rage as it became clear that Dean had no intention of doing as ordered. He stared at Dean for several long seconds, his jaw clenched tightly together. Then, with no warning, he aimed his gun and fired…two shots ringing out in rapid succession.

Dean jerked back, gasping in anticipated pain…but the bullets he had expected to tear through his body never landed. At the last moment Ty's aim had shifted, and both bullets tore through the head of the unconscious man on the ground, sending blood and other matter in a gruesome spray across the arena's sand.

Dean stared down in shock at the body at his feet, his mind taking several second to fully register what had happened. When realization finally hit, a hot wave of anger flashed through him, and he was suddenly no longer aware of the revolver still held in Ty's hand, no longer aware of the two guards standing at his back…or of the crowd watching in anticipated silence. Caution and reason fled from him like leaves before an angry wind as something inside of him snapped. He wasn't even aware he was moving forward until his body crashed into Ty, driving them both backward and down into the arena sand. Ty's look of startled surprise was almost comical, until Dean's fist slammed violently into his mouth.

His attack had been so sudden that the guards at his back were taken completely by surprise. It was Ty's cry of pain, followed almost immediately by the sudden roar of the crowd that finally jerked them from their frozen shock. They moved forward to grab Dean, but not before he got off two more quick blows into Ty's startled face. As he was dragged backwards, Dean continued to struggle and thrash against the hands holding him, completely lost in the heat of his anger.

One of the guards backhanded him across the face, but in his enraged state, the blow did little to slow his wild struggles.

Suddenly Ty's face loomed before him, his eyes black pools of anger, thin trails of blood spilling from both his nose and his bottom lip. Dean heard him curse and saw him raise his revolver. Using the weapon as a club, Ty brought the handle down in a sharp blow against the side of Dean's head.

His vision exploded into thousands of bright stars, and Dean felt his body go limp as pain blossomed through his head. He blinked his eyes slowly, fighting to remain conscious as he was dragged forward and out of the arena, his legs dragging limply across the rough ground. His mind was too fuzzy to pay much attention to where he was being taken, but a moment later one of the guards holding him reached out and swept aside the flap to a small green tent, dragging Dean unceremoniously inside.

Dean caught a quick glimpse of the tent's dim interior before his captors manhandled him up and onto a low table located near the center of the tent. Still trying to clear his muddled brain, Dean forgot to fight back as the guards roughly grabbed his wrists and ankles and bound them tightly with thick leather straps bolted securely to the rough top of the wooden table.

Strapped firmly in place, Dean could move only his head, and he was hesitant to do so as it sent sharp spikes of pain through his temple. His guards moved back to stand at easy attention several feet away, and Dean let his eyes drift closed, fighting off the pounding pain that seemed to envelop every inch of his body.

A moment later the tent flap was swept aside and Ty strode in, followed closely by a short, balding man in a long, blood-stained white coat. Ty was holding a wet cloth against his face, traces of blood marring the fabric in bright red blotches. His gaze fell on Dean strapped helplessly to the table, and his expression was not at all pleasant as he stalked closer.

Upon reaching the table, Ty reached out and tangled his fist in Dean's hair, jerking his head back at a sharp angle and sending a piercing flash of pain through his skull. "That was a foolish little act you put on out there," he hissed, bending low over Dean and piercing him with a fierce glare. "If I didn't need you for the final fight tomorrow, I would put a bullet through your brain right here and now."

"Go ahead," Dean growled, his earlier defiance stirring to life once again.

Ty gave him a tight smile, releasing Dean's hair with a sharp jerk of his wrist. "I don't think so," he replied with a sneer. "You're not getting out of this that easily." He turned to glance at the balding man still standing near the entrance to the tent. "Get a move on, Collins," he barked out impatiently. "We can't have him bleeding to death on us."

The man named Collins hurried forward, bringing with him the strong smell of whiskey. He disappeared from Dean's view for a brief moment, and when he reappeared he was pulling on two white gloves. He leaned over Dean's chest, looking none to steady on his feet, his eyes blinking blearily in the dim light. He reached out a gloved finger to poke at Dean's torso, and Dean couldn't stop the small hiss of discomfort that slipped between his lips at the man's none too gentle prodding.

"The cut is long and deep," the man stated, his voice carrying a slight slur. "I'll have to clean it out a little before I can close it up."

Ty's only response was a curt nod, and the small man disappeared from Dean's view once more. This time when he came back he was holding a long white cloth in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

Collins took a single, long swig of the alcohol, then…with a look of regret…upended the rest of the bottle's contents over Dean's exposed chest.

Dean groaned, his muscles tightening as the burning pain in his chest doubled. When Collins reached out and began swiping the cloth across the jagged cut, cleaning away the blood and sand from the arena, Dean jerked against his restraining bonds, his eyes clenched tightly closed as his breathing turned ragged. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out, the coppery taste of blood trickling across his tongue and down the back of his throat, making him feel slightly nauseas.

It seemed to take forever, but finally Collins stepped back, tossing the blood stained rag behind him. "It will have to do," he grumbled, his eyes moving to Ty.

Dean let out a low exhale of relief, causing Ty to glance down at him with a small smirk. "Hurt much?" the man asked in a quietly mocking voice. "Trust me, it's about to get worse." Dean didn't reply, and Ty turned his attention back to Collins.

"I can sew him up…" the short man began.

_Oh God, no!_ Dean thought. The man hardly looked steady enough to thread a needle.

"Or I can burn the would closed," the man finished, flourishing the flat blade of a thick knife in one hand.

_Oh shit!_ Dean thought, unconsciously tensing against the bindings holding him down to the table.

"Burn it closed," Ty ordered, turning to face Dean once more, his expression making it obvious that he was enjoying the look of fear that Dean couldn't entirely keep from his features. "I've seen your work with a needle, Collins. We need the young man alive." His grin turned feral. "For the time being, anyway," he finished softly.

Dean swallowed hard, his heart rate accelerating with the knowledge of what was about to happen. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard table, flexing his wrists and ankles as he tested the strength of the bonds holding him. Not surprisingly, the thick leather held tight, and Dean collapsed back against the table, trying desperately to reign in his rising panic.

Collins had disappeared from view once again, but Dean could hear the unmistakable hiss of a propane torch sputtering to life somewhere out of sight. Soon the metallic scent of heated metal reached his nose, and he had to fight down the sudden urge to gag.

Dean fought to remember the different calming techniques his father had taught him, but his mind couldn't seem to focus on anything but the soft hiss of the torch. By the time Collins moved back into view holding the ominously glowing knife before him, Dean's breath was coming in short, sharp pants, and a thin sheen of sweet covered his face.

"Hold him still," Ty ordered, and the two guards stepped forward once more, one leaning across Dean's legs while the other took hold of his shoulders.

Dean's whole body stiffened and he only had time to drag in one final ragged breath before Collins stepped forward and laid the red-hot blade flat against the cut on his chest.

Pain as severe as any he had ever known swept through Dean, and he felt his body arch up off the table despite the leather straps and the strong arms of the men holding him. A cry tore from his lips, the sickening smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils. He twisted against his restraints, crying out again as he desperately sought some escape…any escape…from the searing agony. Unbidden tears filled his eyes and his lungs momentarily forgot how to function as his whole body hung suspended in an ocean of agony.

Collins held the knife against Dean's wound for a good five seconds, each seeming more like an eternity to Dean. When the man finally removed the slightly smoking blade, Dean's body collapsed back against the hard wood of the table, his breath rasping in and out in desperate pants. His body was trembling uncontrollably, and he could feel the dark promise of unconsciousness hovering just on the outskirts of his mind. He welcomed the darkness, desperate for the relief it would offer, however temporary.

Before he could slip away into oblivion, however, Ty's face swam into view above him, the man's face twisted in a vindictive smile. "I told you it was going to get worse," he taunted softly. "By the way, you should know that your brother is dead. Rawly took him out of town yesterday morning and shot him. I promised you I would tell you if you survived the day, and so you have."

Dean blinked, his mind fighting to comprehend the words spoken so coldly and casually. All the air seemed to have left his lungs as he desperately searched Ty's expression for any sign that the man was lying. What he saw on his captor's face sent terror through him, and a vicious spike of pain that had nothing to do with his injuries flared deep in his chest. His heart seemed to have stopped beating along with his breathing, and a dull humming began to fill his ears.

_No! It can't be!_ Dean's mind refused to accept Ty's words, but the pain in his chest…centered somewhere over his heart…was continuing to grow, blocking out even the pain of his burned flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut, calling to the darkness still playing at the edges of his mind, reaching out to embrace it…to pull it close…desperate for the relief it would offer.

Even as he drifted away on a sea of darkness, he heard Ty's final words. "Put him in the pit for the night. Tomorrow…he dies."

* * *

Sam felt sick.

He wiped a shaking hand across his mouth, swallowing down the bitter taste of bile that coated his tongue and the back of his throat. He longed for a cool drink of water, but was unsure he would be able to keep any liquid down even if he had some. At least he had managed to get his retching and dry-heaving under control, though he wasn't sure for how long.

He closed his eyes and fought back against the nausea, crouching low behind the tangle of bushes that was his current hiding place. He had been forced to retreat to the edge of the forest when the men around the arena had begun to disperse after the fight, heading toward the cluster of tents…or more specifically, toward the large pavilion at the center of the tents that seemed to be the camp's main gathering place. The large thicket where he hid was dangerously close to the edge of camp, but Sam was unwilling to move farther back into the safety of the trees. His hiding place gave him a clear view of the small green tent in which his brother's bloody form had been dragged several minutes prior, and Sam refused to let the small enclosure out of his sight.

He wished he could see what was going on behind the thick canvas of the tent. Not knowing what was happening to Dean…or even if his brother was okay…was at least partly responsible for the sick feeling clenching his stomach. There had been a lot of blood covering Dean as he was dragged away, and Sam couldn't stop the small shudder that racked his frame at the thought of his normally strong and indestructible brother looking so limp and frail.

He was still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that his brother was _here_…the last place Sam was expecting to find him. The whole time he had been wandering about in the wilderness he had been concerned for his brother…afraid that Dean would somehow get caught up in whatever crazy mess Sam had managed to stumble into. But he had never imagined anything like this. The image of his brother standing bloody and defiant in the middle of the arena while the crowd chanted his name was forever seared into Sam's brain

Watching Dean's fight in the arena and the subsequent showdown against his captors had been pure torture for Sam. He couldn't remember ever feeling so weak and helpless. He had always considered it his job to back his brother up in a fight, and being forced to watch Dean battle for his life while remaining safely hidden away behind the tent had been the hardest thing he had ever done. Every fiber of his being had wanted to rush from his cover behind the tent and race to his brother's side, and to hell with all the guards standing in the way. Only the sure knowledge that such action would only end with him captured or killed had kept him where he was. He couldn't help Dean if he were dead.

But now he wondered if he had made the right choice. He was afraid for Dean…afraid that by _not_ acting he had somehow lost his brother … that it was too late and he wouldn't be able to save Dean. He couldn't seem to stop the trembling that shook his body, and he knew his fever was only partly to blame for the tremors.

With a bitter curse Sam ruthlessly shoved his fear away. He _would_ save Dean…there was no other option. He couldn't even begin to fathom life without the strong and ever-present anchor that was his brother. Dean could annoy the hell out of him at times, and there were moments when Sam wished they could have some space…but the truth was, a world without Dean in it would be a dark and lonely place, and Sam wasn't at all sure he could survive it. He wasn't sure he would _want_ to.

Sam crouched lower behind the thick screen of brush as a man with a rifle slung casually over one shoulder passed by a mere ten yards away. He had observed a couple such guards patrolling around the camp, but they were few and far between, and most seemed more concerned with the various goings on _within_ the camp than anything that might be approaching from _outside_. This suited Sam just fine, as did the heavy drinking that was currently taking place within the large pavilion. Disinterested guards and drunk inhabitants would make movement throughout the camp much easier when the time came for him to make his move.

A sudden cry sounded from the camp, rising over the laughter and shouts coming from the pavilion and causing Sam to jerk upright, his heart leaping into his throat. His gaze snapped to the small green tent, and when the cry sounded again, he found himself on his feet and moving from the cover of brush before his brain completely comprehended what he was doing. With extreme effort he forced himself to freeze, caution tempering his wild reaction to the sound of his brother's pain. His eyes darted around him, his hands clenching into fists at his side. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to find Dean…to stop whatever torment was causing his brother to cry out, but the part of his brain still functioning warned him that any rash action now would only ruin any chance he had at a successful rescue later.

"God, Dean," he whispered harshly, dropping back behind the cover of brush, hot tears of frustration blurring his vision. He had no way of knowing what was happening to his brother, but he had to believe that the men who had him wanted him alive. The tall man who had faced off against Dean after the fight had acted to subdue his brother rather than kill him, and Sam desperately clung to the small hope that fact offered.

Nightfall was only a few hours away and Sam knew his best bet was to sit tight, wait, and watch until he had the cover of darkness to help better shield his movements. He didn't like the idea of waiting, but until he knew more about what was going on with his brother, he couldn't come up with a proper plan to free him.

With a frustrated growl, Sam settled back into his silent vigil, unsure whether he should be grateful or worried when no more cries of pain issued from the tent. As he watched, he became more and more aware of the aches and pains of his own body. The bandage around his arm was completely soaked through once more, and Sam could feel the warmth of his blood as it blazed a trail down his forearm. When the blood reached his hand and began a slow drip from his fingers, he realized he wouldn't be able to ignore the injury any longer.

Working awkwardly with his left hand, Sam began to tear another strip from the bottom of his already tattered shirt, keeping a wary eye out for the next guard on patrol. When he had a long enough piece, he reached up and began to work at the knot holding the old bandage in place, his jaw clenched tightly against the pain. The material of the bandage was made wet and slippery with blood, and it took Sam several minutes before he was finally able to peel the saturated material away from his forearm. He groaned softly, his breath hissing in between clenched teeth as the cloth slid away to reveal the jagged wound. His arm felt hot and stiff, and beneath the steady flow of blood, Sam could tell the skin around the injury was red and swollen.

Grimacing, he quickly wrapped the new bandage twice around his forearm, using his left hand and his teeth to pull the material tight against the wound. He fought against the urge to cry out, his jaw clenched tightly shut as he breathed heavily through his nose and tried not to pass out. He was sweating profusely, his vision blurred around the edges as his stomach rolled in nauseating waves. He was certain that if he'd had anything in his stomach, he would have promptly lost it all over the bushes.

It took several minutes before Sam was able to get his body back under control, but at least the heavy flow of blood from his arm was once again decreased. He had no way to know how much blood he had lost since being shot, but he guessed it was more than was safe. Add to that his fever and undeniable infection, and he could feel his body weakening by the minute. He could only hope that he would have the strength to last long enough to rescue his brother and get them both to safety.

The wind was beginning to pick up, catching at his clothes and blowing his hair into his eyes. A low rumble sounded from the east, and Sam raised his eyes to the sky, noting the thick, dark clouds that were slowly blanketing the far horizon. The air smelled of the promise of rain, and Sam found himself wondering idly if the approaching storm would turn out to be a blessing or a curse.

Turning his gaze from the sky back to the camp, he pulled himself to attention as the front flap of the green tent was swept open and the tall man from the arena stepped out. The man glanced slowly around the camp, then turned and called something indiscernible back into the tent before striding off quickly toward the large pavilion. Sam watched him go, then jerked his attention back to the tent just as the entrance was pushed open once more and the two guards from the arena stepped out, again dragging the limp form of his brother between them.

Sam leaned forward, peering through the brush intently, holding his breath without even realizing it. Dean was completely lax between the two large men, his head hanging loosely forward, his chin touching his chest. He was still naked to the waist, but now a large white bandage swathed the lower part of his torso. Sam let out the breath he had been holding in a long sigh, the relief at seeing his brother again…even limp and unconscious…palpable. Dean was alive, and to Sam that was all that mattered at the moment.

The two guards turned and began hauling Dean in the opposite direction from the group of tents, his brother's booted feet dragging and bumping along in the dirt behind them. The men carried his brother toward the far end of the camp, and Sam cautiously moved to follow them, keeping to the edge of the forest and watching cautiously for any sign of the patrolling guards. He knew he was taking a risk moving about in the open, but he needed to know where the men were taking his brother.

The two guards had moved well past the arena and last string of tents before they finally dropped Dean's unconscious form unceremoniously to the ground. Leaving his brother lying motionless, the men leaned over and began messing with what looked like a metal door lying flat against the ground. Looking at it from a distance, Sam was reminded of the door to the old storm cellar back at Pastor Jim's house. As children, he and Dean had snuck down to the cellar on more than one occasion to practice their poker, look at dirty magazines, or any of the half a dozen other activities that were generally frowned upon by the gentle natured pastor.

There was something far more ominous about this door than the one at Pastor Jim's, however. One of the guards swung the heavy metal panel open on thick hinges while the other guard moved over to Dean and hooked his arms beneath his brother's armpits. Dragging Dean backwards, the man straddled the opening formed by the open door before lowering his brother's limp form down and out of sight. Whatever opening lay beyond the door, it couldn't have been very large or deep, and Sam's breath caught in his throat as he watched the men swing the heavy metal panel shut once more, fastening the door with several metal bolts and effectively burying his brother in the ground.

Sam let out his breath slowly, watching as the two men conversed briefly before one turned and strode off back in the direction of the camp while the second man remained where he was, standing guard over Dean's underground prison. Now that he knew where his brother was being held he could plan how to get him out of there. The pit was near the edge of camp, but it was still out in the open…exposed. He didn't think one guard would be too much to handle, but it would only take one person looking in the wrong direction at the wrong time for the whole gig to be up. He would still need to wait for the cover of darkness to make his move, and if he could come up with some sort of distraction…something that would keep everyone's attention _away_ from that section of camp…all the better.

A slow idea began to take form in Sam's mind, and he couldn't stop a small smile from tugging up the corners of his mouth. If his plan worked, it would not only serve to keep the camp's inhabitants totally distracted, but it might also allow him to rescue Dean and escape without anyone ever being the wiser…at least for a while. By the time Dean's disappearance was discovered, hopefully he and his brother would be long gone.

Running a hand through his long hair, Sam gave a determined nod, his mind made up. In order for his plan to work, he would need some things, and he had only a few hours in which to find them. His gaze swept to the section of camp where the vehicles were parked, his eyes narrowing in speculation.

He glanced back toward the pit where his brother was being held, sending a silent message with his thoughts. _Hold on, Dean. I'm coming to get you…just hold on!_

Moving deeper into the cover of the trees, Sam began working his way back around camp in the direction of the parked cars, his movements silent and stealthy in the growing gloom of evening. The heavy clouds to the east were moving steadily nearer, growing darker and more ominous by the minute, adding to the heavy shadows already cast by the setting sun. Sam listened to a distant roll of thunder and worried briefly that the approaching storm might throw a wrench into his plans. He could only hope that the rain would hold off until _after_ he had set things in motion.

It took him several minutes to work his way around the clearing to the section where the vehicles were parked, and then he waited several _more_ minutes on the outskirts of the trees, watching and waiting for any sign of guards. When he felt fairly confident that no one was around, he dashed from the cover of the woods, crouching low until he reached the cover of the first vehicle…a sleek black Cadillac sedan.

Letting his gaze sweep dismissively over the nearest set of cars…all luxury vehicles of one kind or another…Sam finally found what he was looking for; a beat up brown Ford pickup truck with an attached bed camper. Keeping a cautious eye out for any patrolling guards, he carefully maneuvered himself over to the truck, pressing himself against the passenger side door. Closing his eyes briefly and praying for luck, he reached out and slowly tried the handle, releasing a deep sigh of relief upon finding the truck unlocked. Cautiously he pulled the door open… wincing at the slight creak in the old metal hinges…and leaned inside.

A quick glance around the truck's interior showed him about what he had expected…empty beer cans, paper litter, an old toolbox, and a greasy cloth sitting on the passenger's seat. Reaching for the glove box, Sam opened it up and rooted around, shoving aside more paper and a thick book he assumed was the truck's operating manual.

_Bingo!_

His hand closed around the thin metal cylinder of a cigarette lighter, and he drew the object carefully out, testing it with a single flick of his thumb. A flame danced to life on the head of the lighter, and with a satisfied nod Sam let the fire die. Stuffing the lighter into his pants pocket, he finished his quick search of the truck and then carefully backed out, easing the door shut behind him.

For the next thirty minutes…as evening steadily darkened into night and the storm clouds drew ever closer…Sam moved through the mass of vehicles, picking out the older, more run-down models and raiding and pillaging their contents. By the time he had moved back to the cover of the trees, his pockets were bulging with his newfound treasures, and he carried two light denim jackets over his left shoulder.

Settling back into the shelter of the forest, Sam did a quick inventory in the rapidly failing light. Besides the original lighter, he had a matchbook, a wad of old newspaper, two pocketknives, a flashlight, a bottle of water, a roll of twine, and…his prize find…a small first-aid kit. Prying open the kit he found it stocked with several band aids, alcohol wipes, a tube of antiseptic ointment, individual packets of aspirin, gauze pads and a small roll of medical tape.

Tearing open two of the aspirin packets, he popped the four small pills into his mouth before prying the top off the bottled water and taking a couple small swallows to wash the medicine down. He resisted the urge to drink more of the water, not knowing how long the single bottle would need to last.

Snapping the first-aid kit closed and replacing the lid on the water, he began repacking the stolen goods in his pockets. He took a minute to shrug into the larger of the two jackets, wincing heavily as he slid his injured arm into the jacket's sleeve. He tied the second jacket firmly around his waist and then slowly pushed himself to his feet. He had to reach out a hand and steady himself against the trunk of a nearby tree as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Breathing deeply until it had passed, Sam began the slow journey back around the clearing toward the cluster of tents.

It was growing steadily darker by the minute, and he had to move with caution to avoid running into branches or tripping over hidden roots. The wind was picking up, the heavy scent of rain even more prominent in the chilly air, and Sam felt a sense of urgency driving him to hurry. As he drew closer to the group of tents the sounds of laughter and merriment grew louder, drifting from the large pavilion where most of the camps inhabitants seemed to be gathered. Several lanterns had been set around the edges of the pavilion and throughout the rest of the camp to chase away the approaching dark, the light from the flames flickering and shifting in the steady wind, casting dancing shadows across the canvas of the tents.

As soon as Sam was sure there were no guards patrolling the area, he darted from the trees and into the camp, slipping in among the tents while keeping his distance from the well-lit and heavily populated pavilion. Finding a large brown tent on the very outskirts of the camp, Sam pressed against its sides and listened intently for any sounds from the interior. After a full minute had passed without him hearing anything, he cautiously knelt at its front and slowly unzipped the front flap. Peering inside, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found the tent to be deserted. Several sleeping bags, some blankets and pillows, piles of clothes, and a couple of magazines were the tent's only contents.

Quickly slipping inside, Sam set about gathering anything that would easily burn and placing it in a large pile in once corner of the tent, all the while listening closely for any sounds of approach. All he could hear were the shouts and laughter form the pavilion, and he hoped that the tent's inhabitants were too busy drinking and making merry to want to return anytime soon.

Once he had everything in a pile, he rifled through his pockets until he found the lighter and wad of newspaper. Quickly flicking the lighter to life, he lit one end of the newspaper, watching as the paper ignited and began to burn fiercely. Laying the newspaper down against the edge of the pile, he took a cautious step back, watching to make sure the fire was going to take hold.

It took less time than he had expected…a shirt and then some blankets catching fire and quickly spreading the flame to the rest of the pile. Thick smoke was already beginning to fill the tent, and with a satisfied nod, Sam turned and slipped out, making sure to re-zip the tent's entrance behind him. He knew the clock was ticking now and he would need to move quickly if he was to make the most of his planned distraction.

Moving back to the edge of the trees, he began to run, trusting to luck more than anything else to keep him from tripping and falling in the inky darkness. A sudden flash of lightening lit the sky around him, followed almost immediately by the deep bass thrum of thunder. Sam flinched, stumbling slightly as he blinked his eyes to clear his vision after the unexpected bright light. At the same moment, cries of alarm began to ring out from behind him, the word _fire_ clearly distinguishable among the shouts.

Sam didn't bother to turn, but pushed his feet to move faster, his eyes peering intently through the darkness before him.

_I'm coming, Dean_, he thought fiercely. _Let's get the hell out of this place!_

* * *

Dean's return trip to consciousness was not a pleasant one. The first thing he became aware of was a pounding headache playing havoc with his skull. He moaned, his eyes screwing even tighter shut, his body instinctively flinching away from the pain. But even that small movement was enough to bring to his awareness his other injuries…primarily the burning, lancing pain across his lower abdomen.

_Son of bitch!_

Dean's eyes popped open, only to be met with the continued presence of darkness. He blinked his lids several times, wondering if he had somehow gone blind. When he attempted to raise his hand to rub at his aching temple, his elbow struck against something solid above him.

Dean froze, his senses slowly returning to him. He realized he was lying on his back, the earthy scent of dirt and grass filling his nostrils, the surface beneath him rough and cold against his bare skin. He began to feel about him with his hands, encountering rough earthen walls only inches away on either side of him and slick, cold metal directly above him. He could feel the top of his head pressed against something solid, and a single flex of his legs told him his tiny enclosure didn't extend much further than the length of his body.

Dean recalled Ty's final words before he had passed out; _Put him in the pit for the night…_ He guessed that "the pit" was where he was now, and he had to fight down his growing sense of panic. He had never been claustrophobic, but being left alone in this tiny prison of earth and darkness was a little too close to being buried alive for his comfort. Experimentally he pressed against the cold metal ceiling above him, unsurprised when it didn't so much as budge.

_Damn, Sam wouldn't even fit in here!_

That thought brought a sharp flash of pain as Dean remembered the other words Ty had spoken… _Your brother is dead._

Dean clenched his eyes closed and gasped for air, fighting against the heavy weight of despair that settled on his chest and made it difficult to breathe. It couldn't be true…it couldn't! He would not believe it until he saw Sam's body with his own two eyes. Of course, the likelihood of him surviving long enough to either confirm or deny Ty's story was looking increasingly unlikely. And if it _was_ true…if Sam really was dead…he couldn't bring himself to really care much about his impending demise.

He had never been much of one for prayer, but he found himself praying now…not for himself, but for Sam. He begged and pleaded for his brother's life to a God he wasn't even sure he believed existed… for the strength for Sam to carry on without him. He feared for Sam's future without him there to look out for him, but as long as Sam _had_ a future, Dean would be content to trust in his brother's inner strength to see him through whatever trials lay ahead.

Despite his father's final words to him, Dean couldn't bring himself to believe that Sam was evil, or even that he had the potential to become evil. Sam was just too _good_…to _pure_. He had the biggest heart of anyone Dean had ever met, despite all the loss and suffering he had been forced to endure in his short life. Whereas Dean had grown cold and hard with each passing tragedy, Sam had merely grown more compassionate. He had to believe that whatever plans the yellow eyed demon had for Sam, his brother would resist them…would fight back against the darkness that everyone claimed was his destiny…whether Dean was there to help him or not.

He re-opened his eyes to the darkness, a new sense of resolve filling him. He might only have a few hours left to live, but he wouldn't be going down without a fight. No matter what it took, he would make Ty pay for what he had done to them, and if Sheriff Rawly was within reach…that bastard would pay as well. It wasn't as though he had anything to loose.

A low rumble sounded distantly from somewhere above him, and Dean frowned. _Was that thunder_? he wondered idly. His lifted his arms and pressed once more against the cool metal above him, this time pressing even harder, ignoring the twinge of pain from his battered shoulder and the slightly-more-than-twinge of pain from his burned torso. Still there was no movement.

With a sigh, Dean settled back into the earthy embrace of his prison, deciding his best course of action would be to try and rest and regain some strength. He would have given his right arm for a stiff drink or two…or better yet, a couple of strong painkillers, but as neither seemed likely, he would have to suffer through the night as best he could. As long as he remained perfectly still his pain level was bearable…if just barely…but he doubted he would be getting much sleep.

Another rumble of thunder echoed distantly from above him, followed almost immediately by what sounded like a loud grunt and a distinct thump, as though something heavy had fallen on top of the metal panel that made up the ceiling of his tiny prison. He frowned, listening intently as something scraped roughly across the metal above him, followed by the distinct grating sounds of several bolts being moved out of place.

A moment later, the panel above him swung upward and away, letting in a blast of cool air that smelled strongly of rain. Dean felt goose bumps raise along his arms as he blinked up into the dim light outside his prison, trying to see which of his captors had decided to pay him a visit.

"Dean?"

His whispered name cause Dean to jerk, his eyes widening as his breath caught in his throat. For a second he thought his tired mind must be playing tricks on him as a large, shadowy figure leaned down over the top of the pit, blocking out what little light had been filtering down to him from outside.

"Dean…can you hear me?"

Dean gasped, his fists digging into the soft earth beneath him as he pushed himself into a semi-upright position, his eyes locked on the shadowy figure above him. "Sammy?" he whispered, barely daring to believe his ears even as hope and joy blossomed inside his chest.

"It's me," came Sam's whispered response. "Come to save the day…" His arm appeared out of the darkness, reaching for Dean's hand. "Let me help you out."

Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's proffered hand, desperate for the physical contact to prove to himself that his brother was really there…that he was not merely dreaming. Sam's hand closed around his wrist, then readjusted further down his forearm as his brother prepared to help haul him from the pit. Dean took a deep breath and steeled himself against the pain he knew was coming. As Sam pulled from above, Dean pushed the hand of his other arm into the soft ground beneath him and pushed, biting back a sharp cry of pain as the wound on his lower abdomen objected violently to the movement.

With his brother's aide, Dean pulled himself up and out of the pit only to drop to his knees as soon as he was free, gasping in pain and bent forward, his right arm gently cradled against the bandages swathing his injured abdomen. He felt Sam's hand come to rest on his back, shockingly warm against his cool skin.

"It's okay," Sam whispered soothingly. "Just breathe through it Dean. Just breathe…"

Dean ground his teeth tightly together and fought for control. The pain across his chest, combined with the renewed pounding in his head made him feel lightheaded and dizzy, and he was worried he was about to pass out again. He focused all his attention on the warm heat of Sam's palm against his back, on the comforting cadence of his brother's voice, and slowly brought his breathing back under control. After several minutes he raised his head, looking sideways toward the shadowy figure that was his brother, desperate to see his brother's face…to prove to himself that Sam was really there.

Sam's concerned face slowly swam into his vision, muted and shadowed by the darkness of night, but still the most beautiful sight Dean had ever seen.

"You okay?" Sam asked softly, his hand still resting cautiously between Dean's shoulder blades.

Normally when his brother showed concern for him, Dean's natural response was to throw up a wall of indifference…a strong front that he used to protect himself from Sam's too knowing eyes. But at the moment he was too overwhelmed with relief and gratitude to put on any kind of act. He tried to answer his brother, but his throat was suddenly too tight with emotion for him to get the words out, so he settled for a tight nod.

Sam didn't look convinced.

"I'm okay," he managed to croak out, his voice sounding weak and unconvincing even to him. "Just need a minute," he added, managing to get a little more strength behind the words.

Sam nodded and took a step back, his hand leaving Dean's back. Dean was surprised at the sense of loss he felt with the loss of contact with his brother.

"Sit tight for a second," Sam ordered in his take charge tone of voice. "I have to take care of something before we go."

Dean frowned, following his brother's dark figure with his eyes as Sam moved to the far side of the pit. A bright flash of lightening lit the clearing in a starling display of light, and Dean had a quick view of Sam bending over a shadowy figure lying on the ground. The deep growl of thunder almost drowned out Sam's grunt of effort as he pushed and shoved the body forward until it rolled down into the pit previously occupied by Dean.

"Who…?" Dean began, blinking in surprise at the still form lying down in the hole at his feet.

"Your guard," Sam replied shortly, swinging the heavy metal doorway back into place and securing it with several thick bolts. "I knocked him out with a branch. He shouldn't be waking anytime soon."

Sam's voice was strained, and as he moved to straighten from his task he let out a small gasp, stumbling forward. Dean's protective instincts kicked into high gear, and he was pushing himself to his feet before he even realized what he was doing, reaching out a hand to help steady his brother.

"Whoa, easy there," he murmured, a worried frown flickering across his features as Sam's grip tightened around his forearm…as though Dean's presence were the only thing keeping his brother standing. "Are you hurt?" When Sam didn't immediately respond, Dean tightened his grip, pulling his brother closer to him in the darkness so he could peer into Sam's face. "Sammy?"

"I'm okay," Sam finally gasped, straightening and pulling away from Dean's grip. "Just got a little dizzy is all."

"Bull shit," Dean shot back, his eyes raking up and down Sam's form in search of injury. Unfortunately it was simply too dark to make out any details, and Sam was already moving away from him.

"Seriously, Dean," Sam's voice held weary resignation. "We don't really have time for this now. When we get safely away we can take care of our injuries, but for the time being…we're just going to have to suck it up."

_Our injuries_. So Sam _was_ hurt. Dean clenched his jaw, wanting to argue with Sam but realizing his brother was right. He gave in with a tight nod he wasn't even sure Sam was able to see. Another bright flash of lightening lit the sky with brilliant light, and both brother's flinched at the loud boom of thunder that followed directly on the lightning's heels.

"Not that I'm not glad to see you," Dean spoke quietly after the last rumble of thunder had finally faded away, "but what the hell are you doing here. How did you find me? And how did you get hurt, anyway?"

Sam shook his head, unwrapping a jacket from around his waist and handing it to Dean, his movements stiff and weary. "It's a long story," he replied simply. "When we get safely away from here I'll tell you all about it. I'm a little curious to hear _your_ story myself."

Dean carefully shrugged into the jacket, grateful that it was loose enough that it didn't constrict against his bandaged chest. "Alright, then, let's get out of here," he breathed, looking around him with wide eyes. "Before this guard's buddies come looking for him."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Sam replied immediately, smug satisfaction filling his voice. "At least not for a while, anyway. The other guards are a bit busy at the moment."

Dean arched a questioning eyebrow, then realized a second later that his brother wouldn't be able to see it in the darkness. "What's that supposed to mean," he asked, wincing as Sam reached out and grabbed his right arm and swung it across his shoulder, stooping down slightly so the angle wouldn't be so awkward for Dean. Dean's stiff shoulder put up an aching protest to the position, but he bit his lip and didn't say anything. He would have protested Sam's help at all if it weren't for the fact that he was still struggling just to remain conscious, let alone standing. Sam's left arm snaked around Dean's waist, helping to steady him as they began to slowly move away from the camp and toward the dark shadows of the forest.

"I set fire to one of their tents," Sam replied simply, his self-satisfaction still apparent in his tone.

Dean let out a short huff of laughter, noticing for the first time to the muted calls and shouts of alarm echoing from the camp behind them. "Nice job," he praised, impressed as usual with his brother's ingenuity.

It was Sam's turn to let out a small laugh. "The thing is, I think the wind took hold and is spreading the fire further than I intended. Last I looked in that direction, it appeared like half the tents were going up in flames."

"Good," Dean stated with vehemence. They had reached the trees and Sam began steering them in a slight angle away from the camp, his footsteps surprisingly sure in the gloomy darkness. Besides the bright flashes of lightening that would occasionally light their path, Dean could see practically nothing, and had to rely wholly on Sam not to run him into a tree or drop him off the side of a steep drop-off.

"Dude, how can you see where you're going?" he finally asked, stumbling slightly over a root and leaning heavily on Sam in order to remain on his feet.

"I can't," Sam replied stiffly, his voice sounding strained. Dean immediately tried to lessen the amount of weight he was leaning on his brother. "I'm just winging it. When we get a little farther away from camp I have a flashlight we can use to light our way."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "And do you know exactly where we are going?"

"Exactly?" Sam asked. "No…but I do have a general direction."

Dean let out a small moan at his brother's admission.

"What," Sam asked wryly. "Isn't _away_ a good enough destination for you?"

Dean didn't bother to respond as it was taking all of his focus to remain on his feet and keep moving. Lighting was beginning to flash across the sky in increasing frequency, with the unexpected positive side effect that they were able to better navigate through the thick trees by the brief flashes of light. Still, the going was slow and the terrain was rough, and Dean soon found himself panting in exhaustion.

They had been traveling away from the camp for less than ten minutes before the rain arrived, pouring down in a curtain of water that immediately soaked them and made their footing treacherous. Still, they pushed on with determination, stumbling forward into the night, their only thought to put as much distance as possible between themselves and any possible pursuit.

Dean found himself leaning more and more on Sam for support as the night wore on, but his brother made no sound of complaint and Dean assumed his brother was doing well. His assumption was proven wrong, however, when with no warning Sam suddenly stumbled and went down, dragging Dean down on top of him.

Dean's vision went white with pain, and he let out a small cry as his wounded torso was jarred violently. Despite his agony, he quickly rolled away from Sam, worried that he would somehow hurt his brother.

"Sam?" he groaned, closing his eyes and clutching at his abdomen.

Dean's eyes flew open when there was no reply, and his gaze snapped to where his brother lay sprawled on the ground next to him. Sam was very still…too still…and Dean let out a small curse as he pulled himself closer, reaching for his brother with an unsteady hand. As his finger's brushed across Sam's face he became aware for the first time of the warm heat radiating from his brother's skin. The rain and cold wind should have left Sam chilled to the bone as it had with Dean, but his brother's skin was shocking warm to the touch…much _too_ warm.

"Sam?" Dean called again, shaking his brother's shoulders in an attempt to wake him. There was no response, and Dean felt the first cold fingers of dread grip him.

"Sammy!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.

**Summary: **While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.

**A/N: **Well, after writing and re-writing this chapter multiple times, I finally decided to just accept it for what it is and post it. Hopefully it will not disappoint. All you h/c fans out there…this chapter is for you.

Thanks again to TicTak and Guest for your anonymous reviews. I greatly appreciate the support!

**Chapter 7**

"_Sammy!"_

Dean's cry was swallowed by the howling winds and driving rain of the storm. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to help calm him, he scooted closer to his brother's still form. His fingers were shaking slightly as he placed them against the side of Sam's neck, searching for a pulse. He breathed out a small sigh of relief as he found one, but quickly frowned when he realized the beat against his fingertips was far too fast and erratic.

Grinding his teeth, he felt a wave of anger at himself for not taking the time to find out exactly how serious his brother's injuries really were. Obviously Sam had pushed himself beyond the limits of his endurance, and Dean couldn't help but feel guilty that he had leaned so heavily on him. It was _his_ job to take care of Sam, not the other way around.

"Sam?" he leaned close to his brother's face, his fingers tapping gently against Sam's cheek. He was somewhat surprised to find his brother's skin was warm to the touch despite the cool rain that had completely drenched them both. Frowning, Dean lay the back of his hand across Sam's forehead, confirming his suspicion that his brother was running a fever. He called Sam's name a few more times…went so far as to give his brother's shoulders a firm shake…but Sam showed no sign of waking.

Wiping rain from his face, Dean pushed aside his growing apprehension and forced his mind to focus on the problem at hand. He needed to figure out the extent of Sam's injuries, but the inky darkness and steady rain would make the task a difficult one. He glanced around him, searching the darkness for a thick clump of brush or an especially leafy tree that might offer them at least a modicum of shelter.

A bright flash of lightning revealed the steep outline of a tall ridge off to his right. In the brief blaze of light, Dean saw a jagged rock outcropping protruding from the hillside near the base of the ridge. It wasn't much, but the position of the ridge would protect them from the wind while the jutting rock might provide at least some form of cover from the pouring rain. Of course, getting Sam over to the ridge would be no easy feat. Carrying his brother was out of the question, which meant he would have to drag him, and hope that by doing so he would not be aggravating any unseen wounds.

Taking a deep breath to help gather what little strength remained him, he looped his wrists beneath Sam's armpits and forced himself to his feet, dragging Sam's upper body up with him. His brother's head fell limply backwards, knocking against Dean's bandaged torso, causing Dean to grunt at the sudden flare of pain. The position he held Sam did not enable him to straighten fully, and he had to breathe deeply through his nose as he fought to ignore the sharp fingers of fire piercing through his abdomen. He couldn't stop the wave of trembling that swept through him, the combination of pain and cold making his limbs feel like jelly, and for a brief moment he wondered if he would be able to do this…to drag Sam's deadweight the twenty or so yards to the rocky outcropping.

"Get it together, Winchester." Dean growled to himself, closing his eyes and steeling his resolve. Sam had come and rescued him when Dean had all but given up hope, and now that it was _his _turn to help his brother there was no way in hell he was going to give up before he had even started.

Using his memory and the occasional flash of lightening to guide him, he slowly made his way toward the ridge, shuffling awkwardly backward and dragging Sam behind him while he tried not to trip over any rocks or roots. If he went down, he was not at all certain he would be able to get back up again.

As he drew closer to the rocky outcropping, another flare of lightening revealed a small alcove nestled back underneath the protruding rock. The alcove was narrow, but deep, and Dean marveled at their good fortune even as he carefully maneuvered Sam's limp form back into the small enclosure. In his bent over position he barely fit, his back brushing against the stone ceiling above him, but the sudden absence of rain and wind made the tiny nook seem warm and inviting.

He dragged Sam to the very back of the alcove, lowering him as gently as possible to the rocky ground before collapsing to his knees beside him, his hands clasped loosely across his belly as he fought to catch his breath. Rain water ran in steady rivulets down his face from his hair, and his clothes were soaked through and plastered against his body, adding to the bone deep chill that had settled over him. His earlier trembling had progressed to violent shudders that racked his whole frame, the deep tremors only adding to his pain and fatigue, and he found his mind wandering the edges of consciousness. He wanted nothing more than to lay his head down on the rocky ground and drift into oblivion, and only the sure knowledge that his brother needed him kept him from giving in and letting the darkness claim him.

Taking a few moments to steady himself, Dean finally straightened from his hunched position and turned back to his brother. He reached out to check Sam's pulse once more, groping in the darkness until he found the artery in his brother's neck, relieved to find that Sam's heart was no longer racing at such a frantic pace. His brother's skin also seemed slightly less hot, and Dean suspected the cold rain was helping to lower his fever. As good as that seemed on the surface, Dean worried that the chill might put his brother into shock

Blinking in the near total darkness, he began gently patting down Sam's form in search of the flashlight his brother had mentioned having earlier. Sam's pockets were bulging with a mishmash of items, and it took him a few seconds of searching before he was finally able to locate the flashlight. Pulling it free, he quickly flipped it on, feeling an immediate sense of relief as the darkness was replaced by a soft golden light that filled the tiny confines of their shelter with a warm glow. He felt a momentary flash of apprehension that the light might reveal their position to any pursuers, but in the end his need outweighed any potential risk. He couldn't take care of Sam if he couldn't see.

Standing the flashlight upright on a flat patch of ground near Sam's head, Dean did a quick scan of the items he had pulled from his brother's pockets, taking special note of the first aid kit, half-crushed water bottle, and two pocket knives. Without thought he reached out and grabbed one of the knives, stuffing it down into the inside edge of his boot before replacing the second knife in Sam's pant pocket.

His eyes traveled up his brother's lanky form…searching for any obvious signs of injury…before coming to rest on his brother's face. Perhaps it was the lighting, but Sam's features looked far too pale, and Dean couldn't resist reaching out and slapping his brother's cheek lightly with his palm, calling Sam's name softly in the hope of some response. Just as before, however, his brother remained resolutely still and unmoving, and Dean finally gave up with a small sigh.

Moving his hands down to Sam's chest he unzipped his brother's sodden jacket, pushing it open to reveal the tattered remains of Sam's blue button up dress shirt. Knowing his fingers were far too numb with cold to deal with the buttons, Dean reached out and grabbed the sodden cloth of the shirt and gave a single, sharp yank, tearing the thin material easily and sending buttons scattering. Pushing the torn shirt aside, Dean winced as the myriad of scrapes and bruises covering his brother's torso were revealed. Running his hand lightly over the discolored flesh over Sam's left ribcage, he found himself wondering how his brother had come by such injuries. He was relieved to find no obvious signs of broken ribs, but knew the bruising had to have caused Sam significant discomfort, especially lugging Dean's heavy weight around.

Once he was satisfied that all the injuries to Sam's chest and ribs were superfluous, he began a more thorough search. He noticed dark stains on the right side of his brother's shirt and knew immediately it was blood. He began working Sam's right arm free of the jacket, pausing when his brother let out a breathless moan. He studied Sam's face for any sign his brother was coming around, but Sam remained frustratingly still, his eyes stubbornly closed.

Shaking his head, Dean finished pulling his brother's arm from the jacket, knowing immediately that he had found what he was looking for. The long sleeve of his brother's shirt was completely saturated in blood, as was the makeshift bandage his brother had tied around his upper arm. Narrowing his eyes, Dean began working to loosen the knot holding the bandage in place, noting the slow seepage of blood from beneath the cloth. He growled out a low curse as he gently pulled the bandage away, revealing the ugly wound digging deep into his brother's bicep. He could feel the heat radiating from the injury and didn't like the look of the red and swollen flesh on either side of the deep gash. With the pressure of the bandage removed, the slow seepage of blood was beginning to increase, and Dean knew he needed to move quickly to keep his brother from losing more blood than he already had.

Reaching for the first aid kit, Dean popped open the lid and impatiently ruffled through the contents, quickly pulling out the gauze pad and roll of medical tape. Pressing the gauze down firmly across the seeping gash, he quickly began wrapping the tape around his brother's arm, not bothering to pause this time when his brother moaned and instinctively tried to flinch away.

"Sorry, Sammy," he whispered, working as quickly as he could, his hands soon made slick with his brother's blood. "It looks like you've been leaking for a while, and we can't afford for you to lose much more juice." He kept his voice soft and calm, hoping that in some way it might make its way through to Sam's subconscious and offer some sort of comfort. "You need a lot more help than I can give you right now, but it's going to have to do until we can get you somewhere safe. Just hang in there for me, okay buddy?"

Sam groaned in response, his head beginning to toss restlessly from side to side. Dean hurriedly finished securing the gauze pad, then reached out and cupped the back of Sam's neck, his thumb leaving a bloody smear across his brother's jaw. "Easy there, kiddo," he murmured, watching as Sam's eyelashes began to flutter as he fought his way toward consciousness. "Just take it easy."

With a final moan Sam's lids slid open, revealing eyes clouded with pain and confusion. His gaze locked on Dean, and he blinked several times in an obvious attempt to collect his bearings. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "I feel like crap," he finally grated out, his voice sounding raspy and hoarse.

Dean grinned down at him, feeling a deep sense of relief at having his brother awake once more. "You should see how you _look_," he replied cheekily in a shaky attempt at humor. He quickly laid a restraining hand on Sam's shoulder when his brother looked as though he was going to attempt to sit up. "Just lie still for a minute and catch your breath," he urged, quickly turning serious as he took in Sam's pale skin and fever bright eyes.

"What happened?" Sam asked blearily, rolling his head from side to side and peering at his surroundings in confusion.

"You passed out on me, dude," Dean replied simply, tightening his grip slightly on the back of Sam's neck before pulling his hand free.

"I did?" Sam asked, his face screwed up in a small frown as he fought to remember. His expression suddenly turned to one of concern as he ran a critical eye up and down Dean's hunched form. "Did I take you down with me?" he asked worriedly.

"Had a face to face meeting with the ground," Dean confirmed lightly, subconsciously trying to straighten under his brother's scrutiny. The small movement sent a spike of pain through his midsection, causing his breath to catch in his throat. While taking care of Sam he had been able to focus on something besides his own pain, but now it rose up with an intensity that stole his breath and drained his face of all color.

Sam winced, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, man."

Dean frowned, tightening his grip on Sam's shoulder, relieved when his brother immediately reopened his eyes and looked at him. "Don't _do_ that," he muttered worriedly. "And don't you dare apologize to me for passing out, either. If anything, _I'm_ the one who should be sorry. If you hadn't been half carrying my sorry ass, you probably never would have collapsed in the first place."

Sam shook his head, the lines between his brows drawing together in a frown. "You were hurt, Dean…" he began defensively, but Dean cut him off.

"So were you," he stated firmly, "and I should have done my job and found exactly how bad."

Sam let out a tired sigh, shaking his head in resignation. "You know I'm a big boy now, Dean, right? It's not always your job to look out for me, you know. I can look after myself."

Dean merely raised one eyebrow, giving his brother's prone form a very pointed look. Sam let out a frustrated growl and began pushing himself upright, his features set in defiant determination.

Dean was half tempted to let his stubborn brother do it on his own…if only to prove a point…but Sam's low hiss of pain cause him to throw that plan out the window as he reached forward to brace his brother, easing him back into a sitting position against the rocks at the back of the small alcove. Once he was upright, Sam glanced down at the torn remains of his shirt, his eyebrows climbing in surprise. He craned his neck to one side to peer down at his bandaged arm, then cast Dean a quick, appreciative glance. "How long was I out?" he asked quietly, his former frustration replaced by weariness.

Dean shrugged. "About a half hour or so," he replied simply, twisting the cap off of the smashed water bottle and handing it to his brother. He took a couple of the aspirin packets from the first-aid kit, popping several into his mouth and dry-swallowing them before handing the remainder over to Sam.

Sam took the proffered pills with a tired nod of thanks, downing them with two small swallows from the bottle before trying to hand the water back to Dean. Dean shook his head and pressed the bottle back toward his brother.

"You need to drink more than that, Sam," he ordered firmly. "You've lost a lot of blood and your body needs the fluid. Not to mention you have a pretty good fever going right now. Drink the rest of it if you think your stomach can manage it."

Sam frowned. "What about you?" he asked, even as he obediently raised the bottle back up to his lips and took another, deeper swallow.

Dean shook his head, shifting until he was sitting next to his brother, his back against the rock wall, his shoulder brushing Sam's. "I think I just about drowned myself on rain water. I'm good for now."

Sam glanced about the small enclosure curiously. "How did you find this place, anyway?" he asked wonderingly, looking past Dean at the driving rain still pouring down right outside their rocky cubbyhole.

Dean shrugged, letting his head fall back against the rock, his right hand curling protectively across his belly. "Stumbled across it, really." He muttered. "Just dumb luck, I guess."

Sam grunted, taking another deep pull from the water bottle. "Well, I guess we're about due some luck," he answered simply. Dean didn't reply, but he could feel his brother's eyes on him, and he was not at all surprised when Sam spoke again, his voice filled with forced nonchalance. "So…how are _you _doing?"

Dean rolled his eyes in Sam's direction without moving his head. "I'm fine, Sam," he replied quietly, the lie coming easily.

Sam didn't look convinced. His eyes darted to the first-aid kit. "Maybe I should take a look at that cut…" he began.

Dean flung his arm out, stopping Sam as his brother began to lean forward to reach for the kit. "Leave it, Sam," he ordered sharply. "Trust me, there is nothing in that little bag that can help me."

Sam frowned, his face immediately taking on the expression he used when he was determined to get his way, his chin jutting forward slightly and his eyes narrowed. Dean groaned inwardly, knowing that his brother could put John Winchester to shame when it came to stubbornness. "Dean," Sam argued, his voice taking on the tone of someone attempting to reason with a particularly obstinate child, "you should really let me take a look at it…make sure you haven't pulled any stitches or anything."

Dean grunted, turning to face his brother full on for the first time. "No stitches, Sam" he stated simply, leveling his brother with his most firm look. "They burned the cut closed. The bandage is holding fine, and there is no reason to mess with it here, so drop it already."

Sam's startled look quickly turned to one of horror, his eyes darting down to Dean's torso, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "God, Dean…"

Dean sighed and turned away again, his flash of annoyance fading as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling even more drained, if that was possible. The last thing he needed was Sam worrying about _him_, when it was his brother slowly bleeding to death. He decided to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"So tell me what happened to you?" he asked curiously. "You look like you went one too many rounds with a grizzly bear."

Sam didn't answer right away, and Dean didn't need to look at him to know that his brother was debating whether or not he should allow the redirect. Finally Sam let out a small sigh, relaxing back against the stone at his back, and Dean felt some of his own tension draining away.

"After I met with the sheriff," Sam began simply, "he offered to take me out to show me a trail where one of the hikers disappeared. When we got there, he tried to kill me." Sam fiddled with the thin plastic of the water bottle, before tipping the container up and emptying the last of its contents in a single gulp. Lowering the empty bottle he added, "lucky for me, he wasn't that good of an aim and merely grazed me."

Dean sucked in a deep breath, his eyes closing as a wave of anger swept over him at the mental image his brother's words invoked. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to feel the Sheriff's thick neck between his hands. The truth that his brother could have very easily been killed while Dean was none the wiser left him feeling sick. He was just beginning to realize exactly how close this hunt had been to being the end for both of them.

And of course, they weren't out of the woods yet…both literally and figuratively.

"How did you escape," he asked as soon as he could trust his voice.

Sam glanced at him, obviously picking up on Dean's tension. His eyes looked tired, but one corner of his mouth turned up in a wry grin. "I jumped off the side of a mountain," he answered dryly.

Dean's eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly. "You did what?!" he gasped.

Sam let out a short laugh. "Well, 'fell' might be a better choice of words than 'jumped'." He shrugged. "It seemed like the best option at the time, and it kept me from getting a bullet through this," he raised his hand and tapped the side of his head.

Dean recalled the scratches and bruises covering his brother's body, nodding slowly as things started to make sense. "You'd better tell me what happened," he ordered. "Start from the beginning…when you left me to go meet with the Sheriff. Don't leave anything out."

"Yes, sir," Sam grumbled.

Dean gave him a direct look, and with a small shake of his head, Sam began speaking, telling Dean everything that had happened to him from the moment they had separated at the hotel two mornings ago. Dean listened intently, staying quiet for the most part, inwardly wincing at the numerous near-escapes his brother was describing. When Sam finally finished his story with his accidental discovery of the camp and witnessing Dean's final fight in the arena, the rain was beginning to slacken slightly…the flashes of lightning and grumbling thunder moving off into the distance.

"So what about you?" Sam prodded when he had finished, turning to stare at Dean curiously in the dim light cast from the flashlight. "How did you wind up playing gladiator out at that camp?"

Dean let out a long sigh, rubbing one hand down across his face, feeling a flash of annoyance at the rough growth of stubble across his chin. "Ty got to me about the same time the sheriff got you," he admitted ruefully. He told Sam everything…about being knocked out, waking up in the back of Ty's truck at the camp, his escape attempt and subsequent recapture, and discovering the whereabouts of the missing hikers.

Sam listened to his story with growing incredulity on his face, and when Dean reached the part about Ty revealing his plans to force the prisoners to fight each other to the death for the entertainment of his clients, he broke in with an angry exclamation. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Yeah, that was my reaction too," Dean replied, "but believe me, it's true."

Sam looked away, shaking his head as he attempted to process what Dean had told him. Dean could practically see the wheels turning in his brother's head as he pieced together the new information with the snippets of conversation he had overheard.

"So the poor bastards down by the river…" Sam finally asked, his voice low, his eyes shadowed.

"The losers from round one," Dean supplied quietly, his stomach clenching painfully.

Sam turned back to face him, his expression sickened. "So why did Ty go after you?"

Dean shrugged slightly, turning his gaze away from Sam to study the rain still falling outside the small enclosure. "Apparently one of his prisoners died on him right before the fights were supposed to go down and he needed a substitute. I was his lucky choice…" he cut off abruptly, suddenly finding he had no desire to go on.

He blinked, as once again his mind was filled with the image of Ben lying bleeding and dying in the middle of the arena, his eyes full of fear and desperation as he choked on his own blood. The image caused the pain in his stomach to double, and he had to swallow hard to fight down the sudden urge to throw up. He could sense Sam watching him, but he refused to meet his brother's eyes, afraid that Sam would read the guilt in his expression. He knew Sam was smart…it wouldn't take his brother long to realize what he had done…but Dean couldn't help but worry what Sam might think of him once he did. He dreaded the inevitable questions he knew would be coming.

He felt Sam shift beside him, the barely audible flow of breath as his brother let out a soft sigh. The silence stretched on for few heartbeats before Sam finally spoke. "So, what do we do now?"

It wasn't the question Dean had been expecting, and his eyes flew to Sam's face in startled surprise. Sam returned his gaze steadily, the gentle sympathy and understanding in his eyes causing a lump to rise in the back of Dean's throat. Swallowing hard, Dean quickly turned his gaze back out to the rain, fighting to gain control of his ragged emotions.

A few long moments passed before he felt steady enough to answer Sam's question. "I say we rest here a few more minutes, give this rain a chance to move on, and then get the hell out of here…put as much distance between ourselves and the camp as possible."

"You think they're looking for us yet?" Sam asked worriedly, running a hand through his wet hair and glancing out into the rainy night.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. Hopefully this storm has slowed them down…helped cover our tracks. But you can be sure they will be out combing the woods looking for us as soon as it clears up. I'd prefer to be long gone before then." Dean thought of Rocky and unconsciously flexed his sore shoulder, remembering all too clearly the feel of the dog's teeth sinking into the flesh of his arm even as the animal's heavy weight had slammed him to the ground. He couldn't even imagine the type of damage Rocky could do to Sam's already injured body, but he had no intention of letting that happen.

"In that case, I say we get started now," Sam suggested, cautiously maneuvering his wounded arm back into the sleeve of his jacket and re-zipping it closed. "It's not like we aren't already soaked…a little more rain isn't going to make much difference."

Dean nodded slowly, but couldn't help his worried frown as he watched Sam's slow and painful movements. "Are you sure you're up for it?" he asked quietly.

Sam gave him a pointed look. "Not much choice, Dean," he answered dryly. "You said it yourself…we need to get out of here."

Dean nodded reluctantly, but reached out a hand and stopped Sam as his brother moved to rise. "I have no idea where we are, Sam," he admitted quietly, trying and failing to keep the deep worry he felt out of his voice. It was a simple statement, but he knew his brother would understand the weight behind it. Neither of them were in any condition to wander aimlessly through the wilderness.

Sam looked startled for a moment at Dean's confession, but then his features relaxed into a tired smile. "It's okay, Dean," he murmured softly, "I know which way we need to go."

Dean arched his brows in surprise. "You do?" he asked, taken off guard by his brother's calm statement.

Sam shrugged. "Sure. Do you see that?" He pointed a finger out into the wet night.

Dean looked in the direction his brother was indicating. All he could see was rain and darkness, and he was about to turn and tell his brother as much when a brief flash of red caught his eyes. Squinting through the rain he stared hard at the spot, wondering if he was imagining things. A moment later, however, the flash came again, and then a few seconds after that, again.

"What the hell…" he muttered, peering intently at the blinking red light.

"It's a cell phone tower," Sam explained wearily. "They put the flashing lights on the top to warn low flying aircraft that they're there. I noticed it a few minutes earlier."

"Okay…" Dean began, unsure where his brother was going with this.

"I saw the tower the other night when we drove into town," Sam explained, reaching out and gathering the various items Dean had taken from his pockets earlier and replacing them. "It was up on a hill overlooking Denton. All we have to do is head in the direction of that red light, and we should be able to find the town."

Dean stared at Sam in wonder. He was constantly amazed at how much his brother _noticed_ things. Sam was constantly watching and observing everything that went on around him. This wasn't the first time his attention to such small details had gotten them out of a tricky situation, and Dean wasn't above giving credit where credit was due. "Way to go, geekboy," he praised, giving his brother his most impressed look.

Sam merely rolled his eyes in response. "So we get back to town…then what?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "We find a place to lay low…take care of our injuries. We can figure out what to do about Ty and Rawly after we recover some of our strength."

"You know they will be looking for us, Dean" Sam replied slowly. "We have no idea who all is involved in this…who we can trust.

Dean nodded. "I know, which means we trust no one. Where did you leave the Impala?"

Sam winced. "At the Sheriff's office…they probably have it impounded by now."

Dean swore, though there was not much force behind it. He had already suspected as much. Sheriff Rawly would undoubtedly have the car under surveillance, which meant getting to the medical kit and weapons hidden in the trunk would be no easy task.

"Let's just worry about getting to town for now, alright," he suggested, grabbing the flashlight and biting his lip as he drew his legs beneath him and prepared himself for the painful task of crawling free of their small shelter .

Sam looked worried, but he gave Dean a tight nod, and together they crept from beneath the rock ledge and back out into the wet night. Once they were free, they wearily pushed themselves to their feet, Dean's hand reaching out to grasp his brother's good arm…partly to help steady Sam and partly to keep his own balance. He couldn't stop the groan that slipped past his gritted teeth as he straightened, and his eyes slid shut as he fought against the pulsing pain flaring across his abdomen. He felt Sam's hand close about his upper arm, offering silent support until Dean could finally regain control.

After a few moments of just breathing, Dean opened his eyes and regarded his brother. Sam was watching him concernedly, his chin tucked low and his shoulders bowed slightly against the rain. His face was still too pale, the bruises and scrapes marring his features standing out in sharp contrast in the dim light of the flashlight. There was an air of weary resignation to Sam's demeanor, and he looked utterly exhausted, his eyes blinking far too slowly, his lips parted slightly as he breathed in and out. His mouth was pulled into a taut line as he fought against his own pain, and his eyes lacked their normal sparkling luster. Dean had always been able to read his brother pretty well, and he could tell now that Sam was near the end of his rope.

Surprisingly, the sight of his brother looking so weak seemed to fuel Dean with new strength, and he found himself straightening slightly, pushing his pain to the back of his mind. He was determined to get Sam out of this mess, and he wasn't going to let anything keep him from accomplishing that. Reaching out he grabbed Sam's good shoulder with his hand, forcing his brother to look at him.

"Together, Sam," he growled fiercely, willing some of his strength into his brother through the contact. "We'll do this together, alright?"

Sam stared back at him, and after a moment his eyes seemed to lose some of their dullness. "Alright," he whispered back, his voice barely audible. "Together."

* * *

Ty stared down into the empty hole that _should_ have housed his prisoner, ignoring the rain soaking through his clothes and dripping down his face. He was not a man given to fits of rage, but at the moment the control he had on his anger was tenuous at best. He wanted to hit something, anything, to help alleviate the growing sense of frustration and fury building within him.

He glanced up as Sheriff Rawly joined him beside the empty pit, the man's shoulder's hunched down beneath his jacket, the rain sluing off the brim of his hat. "The rain has helped put out the last of the fire," he reported without preamble. "We lost three tents, and another has pretty heavy damage."

Ty gave a tight nod, his gaze drifting to the shadowy tree line. "And our guests?"

Rawly shrugged. "Now that all the excitement is over, most of them are turning in. There are a few diehards still drinking at the pavilion, but I expect they'll throw in the towel pretty soon."

"And they know nothing of this?" Ty questioned warily, indicating the empty hole in the ground at his feet.

Rawly shook his head. "I've warned our men to keep it quiet, just like you ordered."

Ty breathed a silent sigh of relief, his hands tightening into fists at his side. "Make sure it stays that way," he growled, watching as a flashlight bobbed towards him from the edge of the trees. A moment later Jenson appeared through the rain, Rocky on a leash at his side, both man and dog looking thoroughly wet and miserable. Ty could tell from the look on Jenson's face that the report wasn't going to be good, but he waited for his old friend to speak anyway.

"Damn rain," Jenson muttered as he came to a stop in front of Ty and Rawly. "It's washed away any trail he might have left. Couldn't find any tracks, either.

Ty swore. He had already suspected this would be the case, but the news was still unwelcome. His chances of finding Dean before morning had just plummeted.

"You still think he had help breaking out?" Rawly asked, staring down into the empty pit as though it would hold the answer to his question.

Ty cast him a cold glare. "He was _locked_ in a hole in the ground," he growled irritably. "There is no way he could have gotten out on his own."

Rawly flinched slightly at Ty's tone, his expression becoming defensive. "I know you think it was his brother, Ty, but I'm telling you, I don't think so. We left him injured and wandering the wilderness _miles_ from here. It's impossible!"

Ty let out a small huff of laughter completely devoid of amusement. "If his brother is anything like he is, then _impossible_ isn't the right word to describe it. The fire back at camp was no accident. It was set on purpose and meant to be a distraction. It was his brother alright, I'm _sure _of it."

Rawly looked as though he wanted to argue, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Ty turned away from him back to Jenson. "Gather together a group of the guys…do it discreetly…then start searching the woods. We know Dean at least is injured, and probably his brother as well. It should slow them down. They will likely be headed back in the direction of town, so focus the search in that direction." Jenson nodded and turned away, Rocky trotting obediently at his side.

Ty turned back to Rawly. "I want you and David to get back to town," he ordered tersely. "You'll be able to patrol the streets without attracting attention. If they make it back to town before we catch up to them, make sure they don't get far."

Rawly nodded. "I might let some of the townsfolk know we are looking for a couple of wanted men…give them the boy's descriptions."

Ty hesitated for moment before nodding slowly. It wasn't a bad idea. It meant that many more eyes on the lookout and there were minimal risks since Dean and his brother actually _were _wanted by the law.

"Do it," he ordered, "and make sure you post a guard on the clinic and on their car."

Rawly grunted his agreement and began to turn away, but Ty reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him short. "I don't think I need to remind you of the possible consequences if we fail to recapture them," he stated softly, his gaze intent.

Rawly gave a tight shake of his head. "We'll find them Ty," he promised before pulling his arm free and hurrying away.

Ty gave one last disgusted look at the empty pit before turning and heading back to camp. He would give his men until dawn to find Dean. If they hadn't brought him back by then, he would have no choice but to cancel the morning's final fight. He dreaded the thought…dreaded even more the possibility that his clients might somehow learn that one of the prisoners had managed to escape. These men trusted and relied on him to manage the camp, and if they thought for even one moment that he was not up to the task, they would turn on him in a heartbeat.

Ty shuddered slightly, picking up his pace in his desire to escape the cold rain. If it came down to it, he would tell his guests that one of the prisoners had died of his injuries during the night. It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened. The men wouldn't be happy, but Ty would promise them a partial refund, and as long as they went away satisfied and unaware, he would count it a victory.

And when he finally caught up to Dean…and he would…he would make the man pay in pain for every lost dime. He would start by letting Dean watch as he slowly killed his brother. By the end, Dean would die regretting the day he had ever dared defy Ty Gallups.

* * *

Annie Collins was the world's biggest dweeb.

Here it was, barely six a.m. on her day off, and instead of sleeping in and spending the morning lounging in her pajamas, she was dressed and heading into work. She had planned to spend the day planting flowers around her house, but the night's storm had left her garden a soupy mess and not feeling in the mood to watch TV. or read a book, she had decided to head in and see if Charles needed an extra hand at the bar and grill.

"Girl, you _so_ need to get a life," she grumbled to herself as she pulled into the alley beside the grill and parked her car. Ten years ago her days off would have been spent shopping the malls of Jonesboro with her friends or else hanging out at the fire station with her brother Eric. A lot had changed since that time, but she still found herself preferring the company of others rather than the quiet loneliness of her empty house.

Stepping from the car to the wet pavement of the alley, she breathed deeply of the moist air, glancing up at the thick gray clouds overhead. It had stopped raining several hours earlier, but the heavy overcast remained, hiding the sun and casting the morning in deep shadows. There was a crisp bite to the air, and Annie knew the chill would bring in a few extra patrons to the bar, looking to warm up with some of Charles' famous hot apple cider.

Grabbing her purse from the passenger seat, she slammed the car door then began to walk briskly toward the mouth of the alley, avoiding the multiple water-filled potholes that lined the street. She was so intent on her footing that she almost missed the shadowy shape that suddenly materialized from beside the dumpster a few feet in front of her.

Annie jerked to a sudden halt, her breath catching on a startled gasp, her hand tightening reflexively on the strap of her purse. Almost without thought she shifted the keys in her right hand so that the metal prongs protruded from between her knuckles…just as her brother had taught her. "Who's there?" she demanded, proud that her voice came out strong and steady.

"It's okay," the figure quickly held up both hands, taking a small step closer so that Annie could see him better. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Dean…we met a couple days ago. Do you remember me?"

Annie blinked at the figure before her, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. She did indeed remember the man…had in fact spent far too much time daydreaming about him after he'd left the bar. His dazzling smile and confident flirtation had left her feeling like an adolescent schoolgirl, and she had been more than a little disappointed when he hadn't returned. "Dean," she gasped, relaxing her white knuckled grip on her purse. "You scared the hell out of me!"

"Sorry," he gave her an apologetic smile, and Annie noticed for the first time how haggard he looked. His features were drawn and pale, dark bruising visible along one side of his face and deep shadows pooling beneath his eyes. He was in need of a shave, the rough stubble along his jaw giving him a somewhat sinister look, and the sodden clothes clinging to his frame looked wrinkled and disheveled.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in surprised.

Dean gave a hesitant shrug, his eyes dropping to the ground of the alley. "I was waiting for you," he admitted, his tone self-conscious. "I was hoping you might be able to help me."

"Help you?" Annie repeated stupidly.

Dean sighed and lifted his gaze back to hers, his expression weary and…cautious? "My brother and I are in a bit of trouble," he admitted quietly.

Annie arched an eyebrow, trying to remember if he had mentioned having a brother before. If he had, she couldn't remember. "What kind of trouble?" she asked slowly.

Dean sighed again, raising a hand to rub down his face, the gesture carrying a world of weariness with it. Annie couldn't be sure in the dim morning light, but she thought his hand was trembling slightly. "It's…it's complicated," he finally replied, his green eyes locking on hers with tired intensity. "My brother's sick…really sick, and I just need a place where we can lie low while I take care of him. I promise it won't be for long and I _will_ find a way to repay you."

Annie was surprised by the request, and felt an immediate sense of caution. It was more than his rough appearance and the suspicious way he had suddenly appeared before her in the alley. He hadn't really answered her question, and she knew exactly what her brother would say if he was here right now.

"Where is your brother?" she asked in an attempt to buy herself more time to think.

"He's close," Dean replied simply, the wariness she had sensed in him earlier reappearing.

Annie frowned, finding it strange that Dean seemed so hesitant and wary of her. Shouldn't _she_ be the one afraid of _him_? After all, she knew next to nothing of the man and yet he was asking her to invite him and his brother into her home.

"I don't know, Dean…" she began slowly, shaking her head. "You could be some murderer running from the police for all I know…"

Something flashed in his eyes…there and gone before she could even begin deciphering what it was, and he took a small step forward, his gaze imploring. "I'm not going to hurt you, Annie," he reassured her softy, his green eyes steady as he stared at her. "Believe me, I never would ask this of you if I had any other option."

Annie returned his gaze, feeling as she had when she first met him…that she could lose herself in the green depths of his expressive eyes. She found herself wondering how someone could look so rough and disheveled and yet so handsome and attractive at the same time. Despite herself, she felt her hesitation fading. In her ten years as a waitress at the bar and grill she had learned to read people fairly well, and she could sense an honesty and integrity about Dean that made her want to believe him.

Besides, the more she looked at him the more she could sense his utter exhaustion and fatigue. He looked as though a steady breeze would be enough to knock him from his feet, and now that she was standing closer to him, she could see that his whole body was trembling slightly. There were lines around the corners of his eyes and a tautness to his mouth that suggested he was in some kind of pain. She found herself wondering again what kind of trouble he had gotten himself into, and if she really wanted to get herself involved.

Biting her lip, she glanced toward the mouth of the alley, torn by indecision. Dean didn't press her, but merely stood silently, his gaze dropping once more to the ground at his feet. It was this final defeated gesture that helped Annie make up her mind. It was obvious that he needed help, and though common sense told her she should run away and call the police, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Eric had always told her she had more heart than common sense.

"I have a small guest room off the garage," she finally conceded, drawing Dean's eyes back to hers. "It's pretty small, and there is only one bed, but I guess you could crash there for a while until your brother is feeling better."

"Thank you," he whispered, his tone relieved. "You're really saving our lives here."

Annie nodded, feeling a small blush rising up her cheeks. "Go and get your brother and I'll give you a ride," she offered, motioning toward her car.

Dean merely shook his head. "It's okay. I don't want to keep you from your work. Just give me directions to your house and we can find our own way."

"It's okay," Annie assured him. "It's my day off. I was just coming in to grab something." She felt her blush deepening at the lie, but didn't want to admit that she was lame enough to have been planning on working on her day off.

Dean continued to shake his head. "We'll meet you there," he insisted, the wary look in his eyes returning. "And if you don't mind, do you think you could keep all of this quiet…" he trailed off, watching her intently.

Annie shrugged. "Sure," she agreed quickly. It wasn't like she was about to mention this to Charles or anyone else. She knew they would call her a special kind of stupid and insist she call the police.

"Thanks," he repeated.

Annie merely nodded, then quickly rattled off directions to her house. Denton was a tiny town, and she didn't think he would have any problems finding it. She offered again to give him a ride, but he continued to refuse, and Annie didn't press it.

When she had finished with her directions, he turned to leave, casting a surreptitious glance up and down the street before slipping silently from the alley and disappearing from view. Annie watched him go with a small sigh, wondering yet again what exactly she had managed to get herself into.

She took her time getting home, stopping by the post office to collect her mail and then swinging by the grocery store for a gallon of milk. By the time she returned home she half expected to see Dean and his brother sitting on her front porch, but there was still no sign of them. After putting away the milk and leaving the mail in a pile on her kitchen table to be sorted and read later, she headed out back, grabbing a set of keys hanging from a hook by the back door. She walked down the short path to the detached garage, unlocking the door of the small attached guestroom and stepping inside.

The air inside the room was slightly musty, and a fine layer of dust covered the few meager furnishings inside. It had a been a while since she had last used this room for company, and she left the door open to air it out as she headed for the tiny bathroom. Pulling a washcloth from the bottom drawer of the sink, she wetted it down then headed back into the main room and began dusting down the dresser and side table. When she had finished, she took the blanket from the single bed and walked outside, shaking the material forcefully and coughing slightly at the fine plume of dust that drifted from the coverlet.

She had just finished shaking out the blanket when movement from the edge of her property caught her eye. She looked up in time to see Dean and his brother approaching the house from the wooded path just beyond her backyard. Dean had one of his brother's arms draped across his shoulders while his own arm was wrapped securely around the taller man's waist, bracing and supporting his brother's every step as they made their way slowly toward the yard. Both of their heads were bowed, hiding their faces, and it looked to Annie as though they were dangerously close to collapsing.

Quickly moving back inside, she dropped the blanket on the bed, then hurried back out and down the path, reaching the back gate and swinging it open just as they reached it. "This way," she directed, indicating the open door to the guest room. Dean met her gaze briefly, giving her a tired nod, but his brother never lifted his head, his features hidden behind a curtain of dark hair.

The two men stumbled over to the room and inside, Annie hovering closely at their heels. She watched as Dean dragged his brother close to the bed, then gently lowered him down onto the soft mattress. As soon as his brother was down, Dean's legs seemed to buckle and he fell to his knees beside the bed, a low moan bubbling up from his lips, his hands clasped tightly around his middle as he rocked forward slightly.

Annie stood in the doorway to the small room, momentarily frozen in shocked surprised. If Dean had looked rough in the alley before, he now looked ten times worse. His face was deathly pale, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, his eyes clenched tightly closed as swayed on his knees next to the bed. His brother didn't look any better. His eyes were also closed, but instead of the paleness that marked Dean's features, his face was flushed red and Annie could clearly make out the too-quick pounding of the pulse in his neck.

"My god," she whispered, shaking herself free of her stupor and stumbling forward into the room. She went to Dean first, placing a gentle hand on his back as she leaned down over him. "Are you okay?" she asked, thinking he looked as though he were about to pass out across the floor.

A muscle in his jaw jumped, and he didn't open his eyes right away, but he still gave her a tight nod. "Just…just give me a sec," he grated. "Is Sam okay?"

Annie glanced at the figure on the bed. Sam hadn't moved a muscle since Dean had deposited him on the bed, but she could make out the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. "I think so," she answered, keeping one hand firmly on Dean's back while she reached out with the other to brush her fingers gently across Sam's cheek. The young man jerked slightly at her soft touch, but he didn't open his eyes and Annie felt a flair of worry at the intense heat radiating from his skin. "He's running a pretty high fever, though."

With what looked like monumental effort, Dean seemed to pull himself together, opening his eyes and dropping the arms he had wrapped around his stomach back to his side. Gripping the side of the bed, he pushed himself back to his feet, his worried gaze immediately seeking out his brother. "Sammy?" he called softly.

At the sound of his brother's voice, Sam's eyes blinked slowly open, his gaze unfocused, his eyes bright with fever. "Don't feel so good…" he murmured, a slight slur to his voice. "Tell Professor Johnson… I'm not going to… make it to class."

Dean frowned down at his brother, his face a mask of worry, but his voice was gentle as he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from his brother's flushed face. "Don't you worry about that, Sammy," he murmured. "I'll take care of everything, you just focus on getting better, okay?"

"Kay," Sam whispered, his eyes already sliding shut once more.

Dean raised his gaze to Annie, and she was rocked by the look of anguish in his eyes. He still looked dangerously close to collapsing himself, and she guessed that his worry for his brother was the only thing driving him to remain on his feet. He didn't say anything, but she could read his silent plea for help in the raw emotion in his expression.

Quickly snapping into action, she moved to the other side of the bed, running a critical eye over Sam's still form. She was not a doctor, but her brother had been a Firefighter/EMT, and she had picked up a thing or two from him. She had offered Dean her help, and she wasn't about to go back on it now when it was obvious he so desperately needed her.

"We need to get him out of these wet clothes," she observed, reaching for the arm of Sam's jacket even as she lifted her eyes to meet Dean's gaze. Dean gave a small nod and moved forward to help her, and together they slowly worked to strip Sam of his sodden clothes.

Annie couldn't hide her shock once Sam's jacket was removed and she caught sight of his torn shirt, bandaged and blood-stained right arm, and numerous scrapes and bruises. Her eyes snapped up to Dean's face, but he refused to meet her gaze, his attention focused resolutely on his brother. Annie's lips tightened, but she swallowed back the burning question at the forefront of her mind and returned her attention back to the task at hand. Sam remained completely limp and unmoving as they worked over him, but occasionally he would let out a low moan, his brow furrowing in pain as his body was unavoidably jostled. Each time this happened, Dean would pause, murmuring soft words of comfort until Sam had quieted once more. Watching him, Annie had to swallow back the rising lump of emotion building in the back of her throat.

When they finally got Sam stripped down to his boxers, Annie took a small step back, unable to hold back a small gasp as she registered for the first time the full extent of the cuts and bruises marring the young man's body. She didn't need to see the injury hidden beneath the blood soaked bandage high on his right arm to know that it was bad, and if the burning heat radiating from every inch of his body was any indication, he was obviously fighting off some sort of infection.

She lifted her gaze to Dean, only to find him watching her intently from across his brother's still form. He was leaning heavily against the frame of the bed, one hand splayed out across the mattress near Sam's head, the other held in a white-knuckled fist against his thigh. The wary look she had first seen in the alley outside the bar and grill was back, but this time it was tempered with something that looked a lot like resignation.

Placing both hands on her waist, Annie blew out a long sigh, her eyes locked on Dean's face, refusing to look away. When she spoke, her voice was soft but insistent.

"I think it's about time you tell me what's going on here."

* * *

Dean met Annie's determined gaze calmly, not at all surprised by her demand for an explanation. He had been expecting this…had in fact spent most of the trip to her house trying to distract himself by coming up with any number of stories he thought she might believe. He hadn't had much luck, his brain simply too exhausted to work properly, and in the end he had decided the best course of action would be to stick to the truth. Whether he liked it or not, he had put Annie's life in danger the minute he had decided to involve her, and she had a right to know the truth.

Of course, that didn't mean she would accept it.

"You're not going to like what you hear," he warned her gently.

Annie lifted her chin slightly, her eyes determined. "Try me," she challenged.

Dean shrugged, then did as she asked. He kept the story brief, sticking to the facts, speaking quickly and calmly, his voice devoid of all emotions. He watched Annie's face closely as he talked…watched as her eyes grew steadily wider and her lips parted slightly in an expression of shocked surprise. He was grateful when she didn't try to interrupt or stop him.

When he had finished, Annie stared at him silently for what seemed like ages. Dean watched her calmly, waiting for her to finish processing what he had told her. He kept his gaze steady, his expression open, hoping she could read the truth of his words in his eyes. He had no idea how she would respond…what she might do, and that fact scared him more than a little. If Annie decided he was a mental case and called the Sheriff, he and Sam were as good as dead. He couldn't let that happen, but he didn't want to hurt her either.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Annie finally asked, her voice whisper soft. Strained.

Dean gave her a sympathetic look, his gaze softening slightly. "Completely," he answered simply.

Annie looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't believe it," she whispered softly, but her tone gave lie to the words.

"I'm sorry." Dean could think of nothing else to say.

Annie raised her eyes to his once more, her freckles standing out in sharp contrast against her pale face, her green eyes anguished. "You're telling me that men I have known for a decade…men I have joked and laughed with…are really" she paused, as though searching for the right words, " are really cold blooded monsters." She finished on a whisper.

It wasn't really a question, but Dean nodded anyway. He could only imagine the shock she must be feeling at the moment, the safe little bubble of her world effectively shattered by Dean's revelation. He found her choice of words to describe Ty and his cronies…interesting.

"And Sheriff Rawly…" she began, her eyes imploring as she looked up at him. "You're _sure_ he's involved?"

Dean gave an emphatic nod. "He's the one who shot Sam," he added, his voice coming out rougher than he had intended.

Annie flinched, turning her gaze to stare out the still open window. "I don't believe it," she repeated again, more to herself than to Dean.

Dean didn't bother responding, bowing his head and letting his eyes slide shut in weary exhaustion. He was glad Annie seemed to be accepting the news without the wild histrionics he had been half expecting. He didn't think he would have had the strength to subdue her if she had.

"We have to call someone." Annie's sharp statement drew his attention, and he raised his eyes to regard her once more. She was looking at him, her body stiff, her chin held high, her green eyes hard with steely determination. "The state patrol or the FBI or…someone."

Dean winced, having half expected such a response. "We can't Annie…not yet," he replied gently.

Annie's eyes flashed, her earlier shock and disbelief being replaced by anger. "Why not," she demanded.

Dean hesitated, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy her. He had already given her one shock, and he suspected that revealing he and Sam were wanted by the FBI might be a little much for her at the moment. He settled for a simpler but no less true explanation.

"Ty told me he had paid off a number of officials in high places," he explained slowly. "We have no idea who those officials are or how powerful. If we end up notifying the wrong person, it would put us all in danger."

Annie frowned as she considered his words, but the stubborn determination on her face never faded. "Well, we have to do _something._" She insisted. "We can't just let the bastards get away with this."

"Trust me, they won't get away with it," Dean promised her softly, unaware of the hardness in his voice or the dangerous gleam that had suddenly entered his eyes. "But right now, I need to focus on helping my brother."

As if on cue, Sam let out a soft moan from below them, shifting restlessly against the sheets. "Dean?" he called out, his voice soft and weak, his tone anxious.

Dean immediately reached down to grasp Sam's forearm. "I'm right here, Sammy" he murmured, watching as his brother's head tossed restlessly from side to side.

"Dean?" Sam cried out again, his voice sounding even more desperate, his eyes shifting wildly beneath his closed lids.

"Easy, Sammy," Dean soothed, reaching out a laying a calming hand across his brother's hot forehead. "Just relax."

Annie disappeared from view, and Dean could hear the sound of running water from nearby. A moment later she reappeared with a wet washcloth held in one hand. Dean removed his hand from his brother's brow, and Annie replaced it with the cool cloth. As soon as the wet rag touched his hot skin, Sam's eyes snapped open, dazed and unfocused as he glanced wildly around the room.

"He's coming, Dean," he gasped, his arms and legs beginning to thrash slightly across the soft sheets of the bed.

"It's okay, Sam" Dean reassured, trying unsuccessfully to get his brother to look at him. Even though Sam was talking to him, Dean had the impression that his brother wasn't really seeing him at all.

"He's coming," Sam repeated, becoming more and more agitated, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. "Yellow eyes. He's coming for me."

Dean couldn't help but flinch at his brother's words, his hand tightening reflexively on Sam's arm. "Listen to me Sam," he ordered softly, his voice intent, trying to drive the words home through his brother's fevered panic. "You know I won't let him get to you, right? You're safe, Sammy. I promise… I'm going to keep you safe." Dean was well aware of Annie standing a few feet away, listening to every word of their exchange.

Something in Dean's tone must have gotten through to his brother, because Sam's wild thrashing instantly calmed. His eyes slid to meet Dean's gaze for the first time, and Dean caught a flicker of awareness in the hazel depths.

"Dean," Sam whispered, the muscles in the arm beneath Dean's fingers flexing slightly, as though Sam were trying to lift it but simply did not have the strength.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean reassured softly, instinctively knowing what his brother needed. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. We're going to be fine."

Sam gave a weak nod before his eyes slid shut once more, his breathing almost instantly deepening as he drifted back to sleep

Dean glanced up at Annie, surprised to find her eyes bright with unshed tears as she watched him.

"Sorry," she whispered, raising one hand to dash away the wetness as a single tear escaped from her eye. "It's just watching you with him…" she trailed off, her eyes dropping to the edge of the bed, her throat working convulsively. "You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you," she asked softly, her voice tight with emotion.

Dean shrugged, though she wasn't looking at him to see it. "He's my brother," he stated simply, knowing there was nothing more he could say to explain it. Either people understood the intense connection or they didn't. Something told him Annie was one of the few people who did.

Annie nodded slowly, still not looking up, one hand reaching out to trace the pattern of the bed's coverlet. "Watching you with him reminds me of my own brother," she stated softly, her voice subdued.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. Dealing with emotional women was something his brother handled so much better than he did. He always managed to say the wrong thing, or else came across as calloused and insensitive. He much preferred his girls happy and giggling over sad and crying.

"Are you two close?" he asked, feeling the need to say something to fill the sudden quiet filling the room with tension.

"We _were_," Annie answered simply, the slight emphasis she placed on the past tense telling Dean he had once again managed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Before he could come up with some sort of reply, Annie lifted her gaze back to his, and he was relieved to see she had her tears firmly under control. "He died in a car accident ten years ago," she informed him quietly. "It was one of the reasons I moved up here. I used to live in Jonesboro, but after Eric died, I just couldn't stay there any longer. It seemed wrong…you know…to just continue on with my life when such a big piece of me was no longer there."

Dean swallowed hard, knowing only too well what Annie was talking about. It was how he had felt after his father died. He had wanted so desperately to get away…to escape…to purge from his life anything and everything that would remind him of what he had lost. But unlike Annie, he hadn't been able to run away. Family secrets, unfinished business, and an unspeakable promise had kept him tightly bound to the path fate had decided for him…the path he had been on since the night his mother had died.

Unable to think of anything to say, Dean grabbed the cloth still resting across Sam's brow and quietly walked to the bathroom, re-wetting the rag under the cold water. By the time he returned to Sam's side, he had a firm control over his emotions, his features carefully neutral. Annie seemed to understand his silence, for she quickly changed the subject.

"What are we going to do about your brother?" she asked, refolding the wet cloth Dean handed her and replacing it across Sam's brow. "He's really sick, Dean. He should be in a hospital."

Dean shook his head. "We can't," he informed her firmly. "Ty and Rawly will be looking for us, and in a hospital we would just be sitting ducks." There was no need to mention the FBI.

Annie sighed. "Well, we have to do _something_. I don't have the supplies here to take care of him. He needs medicine, not a washcloth on his forehead!"

Dean's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He knew she was right. The infection in Sam's arm was the biggest concern, though blood loss was another serious problem. Dean would have asked Annie for needle and thread and sown Sam's wound closed if he wasn't uncertain if such action would do more harm than good…locking the infection inside his brother's body where it could do even more damage. He had some antibiotics stashed away in the medical kit in the Impala's trunk, but even if he could somehow get to them…which was doubtful…he wasn't sure they would be strong enough to do the job.

It was a sobering reality that Sam was in serious trouble, and Dean wasn't at all sure what to do about it. Yet doing nothing and allowing Sam to slowly waste away was not an option either. He briefly considered breaking into the local pharmacy and stealing the supplies he needed, but in order to do that he would need to wait until nightfall, and he wasn't at all sure that Sam could afford to wait that long.

"I have an idea," Annie suddenly spoke from across the bed, drawing Dean from his increasingly desperate thoughts.

"What is it," Dean asked warily.

"I can head down to the clinic and talk to the local doctor. Explain what's going on…"

Dean was already shaking his head, ready to dismiss the idea before Annie had even finished. "We can't trust anyone, Annie," he stated forcefully. "We don't know who all is involved in Ty's operation."

"You trusted me," Annie pointed out softly.

Dean let out a soft sigh. It was true, but it had only been because he was desperate. He hadn't been expecting Sam's rapid decline during the long trek to Denton, and by the time they had reached the town, he had been forced to half carry his brother, Sam's mind slipping increasingly into confusion and delirium. He had known immediately that he needed help, and Annie had been the only person he could think of.

Annie reached out and touched the back of Dean's hand where it still lay gripping Sam's arm, drawing him from his thoughts. She leveled Dean with a patient stare. "I understand your caution," she stated calmly, "but I honestly don't see that we have much of a choice here."

Dean scowled at her, knowing she was right but unsure if he was ready to admit it yet. "This doctor," he growled, "his name doesn't happen to be Collins does it?"

Annie frowned, shaking her head. "No, _her_ name is Juarez. Maria Juarez. We do have a vet named Collins, though."

Dean grimaced. He had so _not_ wanted to hear that!

"Maria works as a trauma doctor in the ER a couple of towns over," Annie continued, "but on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons she runs the local clinic. I've gone to see her several times, and I honestly can't believe she would be involved in any of this mess."

Dean frowned. "Yesterday you might have said the same thing about Ty…or maybe sheriff Rawly," he pointed out gently. "People can surprise you, and if your wrong about her, it puts us all in terrible danger. Even if she's _not_ involved, if she doesn't believe your story and decides to go to the Sheriff, it's all over."

"I know," Annie replied, "but I really don't think that will happen. Maria is from a small county in South America. I don't remember exactly where, but I do know her family moved here when she was a teenager in order to escape some pretty severe persecution. I've heard some of the stories. If anything, Maria will be more likely to believe the evil some people are capable of then I was."

Dean closed his eyes, the heavy weight of his weariness pressing down on him. Annie was right. They were out of choices, and if he wanted to help Sam he had to make a decision. Risky or not, Annie's idea was the only option left them, and Dean couldn't afford not to take it.

"We'll do it," he agreed softly, hoping fervently that he wasn't making a mistake that might cost them all their life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.

**Summary: **While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.

**A/N—**_Before reading this chapter, it is important that you know that I am a medical expert…with all my knowledge gained from watching TV, reading books and the occasional google lookup. __With that being said, please forgive any errors or inaccuracies you may encounter. _

_Thanks to firstcatfish for beta reading this chapter for me. I tinkered a little after she was done, so any remaining errors are mine…_

_Hope you enjoy._

**Chapter 8**

Dean hated waiting.

It was a character trait he had picked up from his father. John Winchester had been energy and motion, always active and never still. Even between hunts he had always been doing _something_, whether working on the car, tinkering with the weapons, or some other project he had set himself. When stuck in the car for long periods of time his father had never been able to simply relax, constantly drilling his sons on weapons and training or else turning the music up on the radio and tapping his hands in a steady rhythm across the top of the steering wheel.

As Dean had grown older, he had come to understand the reasoning behind his father's constant drive for action…why John could come home exhausted from a long and difficult hunt only to immediately begin searching for the next one. Part of the reason stemmed from his father's drive for justice…his obsession with tracking down and killing the thing that had killed their mom, and destroying as much evil as he could along the way. But another reason was simply because John was afraid. Afraid of the quiet and calm between hunts that left him with nothing to focus on…nothing to distract him from his memories and pain. If left too long with nothing to do, John would become increasingly broody and melancholy, drinking more and sleeping less until it was almost a relief to Dean when Pastor Jim or Caleb would call with another lead on a hunt.

As much as it had bothered him as a child, Dean knew he was much like his father in this aspect. As long as he was actively working…as long as he had something to focus his attention on…he didn't have to think about everything he had lost, everything Sam had lost, or everything they continued to lose in a quest for vengeance that he sometimes doubted would ever be over. It was too easy to numb himself in the routine of the job, to blank his mind of everything but vanquishing the next spirit or expelling the next demon. It had become more than a habit for him; it had become a way of life and, for Dean, it was the only way he really knew how to survive.

But now, stuck in the tiny guest bedroom off Annie's garage, he had nothing to do to distract himself from his increasingly dark thoughts. In the half hour since Annie had left to go and fetch the doctor, Dean had thought of over a dozen different things that could go wrong, and his worry and apprehension were steadily growing.

Scrubbing a hand back through his hair, he forced himself to stop pacing the length of the small room and instead moved over to stand next to the bed. Sam had been quiet since Annie had left, and Dean was unsure whether he should take this as a good sign or bad. He feared it was the latter. Looking down at his brother he felt as though a cold fist was gripping his heart, intensifying his pain and making it difficult to breath. Sam's skin was flushed red with fever, his lips dry and cracked, his breathing shallow and rapid. Every now and then his body would shudder beneath the light sheet Annie had placed over him before she left, his limbs jerking slightly as though he were fighting off a deep chill instead of the fire currently raging through his veins. Watching him, Dean knew his brother was fading, his ravaged body slowly giving into the infection and fever, and the terror he felt at the thought of losing Sam was enough to make him feel physically ill. He wanted to be _doing_ something to help Sam, but knew that his brother's injuries were beyond him without the proper medical supplies…and perhaps even with them.

If Annie wasn't able to convince the doctor to return with her, Dean would have no choice but to ask her to take Sam to the nearest hospital while he stayed behind to hold off Ty and Rawly. It was a risky move, without much hope of success on Dean's part, but if that was what it took for Sam to survive, he would do it in a heartbeat.

_Take care of your brother, Dean. _

His father's voice echoed in his ears. It had been a running mantra growing up, and Dean had taken on the responsibility willingly. He hated seeing Sam this way…so sick and weak. It made him feel as though he had somehow failed in his duty to protect his baby brother.

"Hang in there, Sammy," he murmured softly, placing the back of his fingers against his brother's flushed cheek. "Help is on the way." He prayed it was the truth.

Grabbing the damp cloth Annie had left across Sam's brow, he moved over to the bathroom, flipping on the switch and stepping over to the sink. Turning the cold water on, he began rinsing the cloth, his eyes rising to glance at his reflection in the mirror.

He winced at the image that stared back at him, amazed that Annie hadn't run screaming when she had first seen him in the alley. He looked a wreck! His features were pale, the whiteness of his skin accentuating the dark bruising across the side of his face and the deep pools of shadow beneath his eyes. The growth of stubble across his chin gave him a rough and untidy look, and his eyes were heavy lidded and dull, reflecting his exhaustion and pain.

Quickly dropping his eyes back down to the sink, Dean noticed that his hands were trembling slightly as he turned off the water and wrung out the washcloth. He knew he was reaching the end of his endurance, but was determined to push on until he knew Sam was taken care of. If there was one thing his years as a hunter had taught him, it was how to ignore his pain until the job was done, and this time was no different.

He was careful not to raise his eyes to the mirror again as he turned and exited the bathroom.

Moving back to Sam's side he folded the cloth and lay it once more across his brother's forehead, knowing that at this point it was like trying to use spit to put out a house fire. Sam needed medicine, and until he got it, his fever was only going to continue getting worse.

A sudden noise from outside had him freezing in place, his heart-rate accelerating as he listened intently. He could hear the soft murmur of voices steadily approaching, and a moment later a sharp rap on the door had him tensing, his fingers drifting down toward his boot and the hidden knife he had stashed there.

"Dean, it's me," came Annie's muffled voice through the wood of the door. "I have the doctor. Let us in."

Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, Dean moved to unlock the door, swinging it open and stepping back to let Annie and another women step inside.

His gaze was immediately drawn to the doctor, and he couldn't help the slight widening of his eyes as he took in her appearance. The woman was tiny…barely five feet tall, with rich dark hair and fine delicate features. If it weren't for the fine lines around her eyes and the light spattering of gray at her temples, Dean might have easily mistaken her for a child. She was dressed in a dark gray pant suite with a white lab overcoat, and she had the handles of a large black medical bag gripped firmly in one hand. Her eyes were dark and intelligent as she regarded him, her expression sharp and appraising, giving Dean the distinct impression that he was being weighed and evaluated.

Her look reminded him uncomfortably of one of his fourth grade teachers, Mrs. Evans, who'd had an uncanny ability to tell when Dean had been up to no good just by looking at him, and it took a concerted effort not to shift nervously under her scrutiny.

"Dean, this is Dr. Maria Juarez," Annie introduced, closing and re-locking the door behind them. "I told her your story and she has agreed to help."

Dean returned Maria's small nod of greeting with one of his own, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "So you believe us?" he questioned softly, watching Maria's face intently.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," Maria replied simply, her voice carrying just a hint of an accent. "Though I must admit, it was quite the story. Perhaps that is why I was inclined to believe it…it was simply too incredible to be made up."

Dean's lips turned up in a quick, wry smile. Whatever her reasons, he was just relieved she had come. Now Sam would finally get the help he so desperately needed.

"From what Annie told me, you and your brother have had quite a time of it. I'll do what I can to help," Maria continued, her gaze slipping past Dean toward the bed.

"Thanks," Dean replied, following her gaze. "Sam's in pretty bad shape. He has a cut on his arm that's infected and is running a high fever."

Maria nodded but didn't immediately move toward the bed. "What about you?" she asked, running a critical gaze over his form.

Dean arched a questioning eyebrow. "What about me?" he replied.

Maria shook her head. "I'm a doctor, Dean. I know a man in pain when I see one. How bad are _your_ injuries."

"I'm alright," Dean replied shortly. "Sammy's the one that needs help."

Maria eyed him for a moment longer before accepting his words with a short nod. Moving past him she went to stand next to the bed, lifting her medical bag and laying it atop the small bedside table.

"How long has he been unconscious?" she asked briskly, pulling a pair of gloves from the top of the bag and snapping them into place.

"He's been in and out for the last several hours," Dean replied, moving to stand on the opposite side of the bed, recalling the nightmare journey through the wilderness to get back to Denton. Sam had started out strong, but as the night wore on, his brother had begun to falter, his fever and blood loss taking more and more out of him. Sam had fought valiantly against his failing body, but by the time the lights of the town had twinkled into view, Dean had been forced to half carry him as Sam's mind had slipped increasingly into fevered confusion. Dean still wasn't sure how they had made it, with his own body so weak and shaky, but by the time they had reached the outskirts of the town, he had known he needed help. It had been hard, leaving his brother hidden in the woods while he went in search of help, but he'd had little choice.

"And his fever?" Maria's voice pulled Dean from his thoughts. "How long has he had that?"

"Since last night at least, maybe longer," Dean replied, watching as Maria took his brother's pulse, then gently pulled aside the sheet and ran a critical eye over Sam's injuries.

"Any nausea or vomiting?" she asked, running her hands lightly over Sam's bruised side, gently probing and prodding at the ribs beneath.

Dean sighed wearily, running a hand down across his face. "He was pretty dizzy…kept losing his balance. He never threw up when he was with me, but he might have before."

Maria nodded, then turned and pulled a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from her bag. Dean bit the inside of his cheek and watched silently as she continued her exam, his fingers drumming a nervous tattoo against the side of his leg. Maria's face was calm and focused, but Dean could see the worry in her eyes as she finished taking Sam's vitals and turned to remove the bandage wrapped around his arm. "When did this happen," she asked, peeling the last layer away from the wound and frowning down at the deep gash.

"Two mornings ago," Dean replied, feeling his stomach roll uncomfortably as his eyes fell on the deep cut running across his brother's bicep. The wound looked worse than it had when he had wrapped it in their little shelter. The skin around the gash was grotesquely swollen, with what appeared to be ridges of bumpy flesh surrounding it, peeling the edges of the wound back. The steady flow of blood from the cut was mixed with yellow puss, and the smell of infection was distinct even from his position across the bed.

"How bad is it?" Annie spoke up for the first time from her position at the foot of the bed, her hands gripping the baseboard in a white knuckled grip. Her eyes were glued to Sam's arm, her face pale and her eyes large.

Maria glanced at her, then let out a small sigh, her gaze flickering to Dean. "It's bad," she stated simply. "I've had worse before….once. A young man cut open his leg falling on a rock while out hiking. It took him two days to limp back into town, and by the time I got to him at the hospital his leg was badly infected."

"What happened to him?" Annie asked.

"He survived," Maria answered tightly, her eyes returning to the wound on Sam's forearm, "but he lost his leg."

Dean pulled in a ragged breath, the trembling he had been fighting in his limbs all morning suddenly increasing. He felt dizzy and more than a little nauseas, and was forced to lean heavily into the side of the bed in order to remain on his feet, fighting to regain control of his body.

The fear he felt must have shown on his face, because when Maria looked back up at him her eyes softened and her voice took on a calming note. "I have the medicine to help your brother, Dean," she reassured him, "but in order for it to be the most effective, I'm going to need to clean out this cut…drain away some of the infection. See this?" she pointed at the small ridges of flesh Dean had noticed earlier, "these are pockets of infection just beneath the skin, and they run all around the wound, putting pressure on it. I'm going to have to lance them and drain them before I can stitch him up."

She paused, and Dean nodded to show her he understood.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Dean," Maria continued, her gaze forceful as she watched him from across the bed. "Sam's fever is too high, his pulse too fast, and his blood pressure too low. I would feel a whole lot more comfortable if he were in a hospital right now, but seeing how your special circumstances do not allow for that, I am going to do the best I can for him here and now."

Dean took a deep breath and met Maria's gaze steadily. "Just tell me what I need to do to help."

Maria gave a curt nod. "I'm going to start by inserting an IV…getting him started on a saline drip. Hopefully that will help with his vitals as well as help reduce his fever. When I go to lance his arm, I'll need your help holding him still. With his blood pressure so low I don't want to risk a sedative, and this isn't going to be pleasant."

Dean nodded, watching as Maria began removing supplies from her bag, her movements quick and precise. He moved back a few steps as she came around the bed to insert the IV in Sam's left arm, slipping the needle in with an ease that spoke of many years experience. She taped the IV in place, then hung a saline bag from the top of the bed's headboard, expertly connecting the maze of tubing with quick and nimble fingers.

Annie and Dean watched her silently, standing back so as not to get in her way. When Maria had finally finished with the IV she moved back around the bed. Switching out her gloves for a fresh pair, she removed a small scalpel from a small leather case and began cleaning the blade with a brown liquid that smelled strongly of antiseptic. When she had finished with the scalpel, she wet another gauze pad with the same liquid and began gently cleaning the skin all around Sam's cut, staining his flesh a lurid orange-brown color. When she finished wiping down Sam's arm, she glanced at Dean and gave a small nod to indicate she was ready.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Dean leaned over his brother, gripping both of Sam's shoulders in his hands and pressing his brother's form back and down against the soft mattress. The angle was awkward, and he could feel the bandages across his belly rubbing against Sam's side, sending sparks of pain through his entire body, but he clenched his jaw and ignored it, giving Maria a tight nod to show that he was ready.

Maria immediately raised her scalpel and bent over the wound, bringing the blade up to lay lightly against the tight skin directly beneath Sam's wound. It seemed she had barely touched the scalpel to Sam's skin when a thick stream of yellow and red liquid began flowing from the small incision. Maria expertly caught the flow with a gauze pad in one hand while she used the other hand to press on either side of the cut, forcing the puss up and out of the wound.

Dean felt his stomach clench and quickly turned his eyes away, resting his forehead against Sam's upper chest as he breathed heavily through his mouth and fought down his nausea. A moment later he felt Sam's muscles tense beneath his hands, and his brother let out a strangled groan. Dean immediately lifted his head, staring down into Sam's face worriedly as his brother began to struggle weakly against him, his head rocking wildly from side to side, small whimpers of pain escaping from the back of his throat.

"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered soothingly, his own discomfort completely forgotten in the face of his brother's pain. "Just try to relax. It will be over soon, I promise."

Sam moaned in response, his lashes flickering as the pain drew him toward consciousness. His muscles strained beneath Dean's hands, and it was all Dean could do to keep his brother's arm still as Maria continued to work on him. "Easy, Sam, easy," Dean repeated, over and over again.

Finally, it all became too much for Sam, and his eyes snapped open as a small cry escaped from between his lips. He glanced wildly around the room, confused and frightened, and Dean was forced to press his full weight down across his brother's body in order to keep him still, the pain from his abdomen so great he nearly cried out himself.

"Look at me, Sam," he ordered, his voice coming out breathless and strained. "Just look at me. That's right, kiddo, just look into my eyes."

Sam's eyes, bright with fever and filled with pain, locked onto Dean, his expression begging his brother to make the pain stop. Dean felt a lump forming in the back of his throat and had to swallow hard to force it down.

"Hey Sammy, you remember that time you fell out of the tree and broke your wrist?" he asked softly, instinctively trying to distract his brother from the pain. He had no idea if Sam was cognizant enough to understand him or not, but he kept talking, his voice low and soothing. "You were trying to rescue old Ms. Ida's cat from the tree and the branch you were stepping on broke. I wasn't there, but Ida told me later that you never once cried…not once… despite your wrist swelling up to twice its normal size. I knew then that you were one tough little bastard."

Sam let out a groan, his eyes locked on Dean, his lips pulled tight over his teeth in a grimace of pain.

"And then there was the time I signed you up for the junior rodeo bull-riding contest while Dad was working that job at the State Fair." Dean continued, trying to keep his breathing steady and under control. "You were so scared, and I kept teasing you, but instead of running away, you went out there, rode that bull, and won the competition. I never told you, but I was really proud of you for that. You were always really good at facing your fears."

"You're doing good, Dean," Maria murmured softly from beside him, "Just keep talking to him."

Dean nodded and did just that, calling forth memory after memory from their childhood…easy memories that had nothing to do with anything supernatural or the crazy life they lived. He found that talking was helping to distract him from his own pain, and though he still did not know if Sam understood him, his brother seemed to at least be responding to the sound of his voice. He was no longer struggling against Dean's hold, his eyes shut once more, and only the tense muscles beneath Dean's grip, his brother's harsh breathing, and the occasional moan let him know that Sam was still conscious.

By the time Maria sat back with a weary sigh and declared she was finished, Dean felt limp and drained, his voice scratchy from so much use. He felt his brother's muscles slowly beginning to relax beneath his grip, his breathing evening out as he drifted toward real sleep once more.

Glancing to the side, Dean noted that Sam's arm looked much better, the swelling reduced and a neat row of stiches at last stopping the persistent flow of blood. Giving the doctor a grateful look, he peeled his fingers from their tight grip on Sam's shoulders, then used the bed to help lever himself to his feet.

He knew immediately that he was in trouble as a wave of dizziness swept over him, turning his vision dark at the same time a sharp spike of pain from his torso stole his breath and turned his legs to jelly. He staggered back away from the bed, his arms automatically coming up in an effort to balance himself, his wrist striking against the edge of the dresser. If he'd had any breath left, he would have sworn, but as it was he was too busy just trying to stay on his feet.

"Whoa, easy there." Annie's voice drifted to him from out of the darkness, and the next moment he felt her hand on his shoulder, steadying him and offering him balance. Using Annie on one side and the dresser on the other, Dean braced himself, closing his eyes tightly and breathing deeply as he fought to remain conscious.

It took a few minutes, but eventually the pain and dizziness eased enough that he felt safe opening his eyes, blinking them several times to clear away the sparkling lights still dancing around the edges of his vision. He was somewhat surprised to find that he had latched onto Annie shoulder with his left hand, his fingers digging into her upper arm in what had to be a painful grip. He quickly released her, dropping his left hand back down to his side but maintaining his steady grip on the edge of the dresser with his right. Annie kept her hand on his shoulder, her face concerned.

"I'm okay," he gasped unsteadily, casting Annie a grateful look. "Just a little dizzy."

"You had better sit down before you fall down." It was Maria who spoke, moving from around the bed to stand before him. Dean was struck again by how small the woman was, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders.

He started to tell her again that he was okay, but Maria cut him off with a firm expression. "Don't bother trying to tell me you're fine. You look like a good sneeze would knock you over."

Dean frowned and started to shake his head, but at the motion his dizziness threatened to return and he found himself reaching out blindly for Annie's support once more.

"There is a chair at the end of the dresser." Annie's voice was gentle, her hand on his shoulder steady, helping to anchor him in a world that was suddenly tipsy turvy.

Dean knew the chair she was talking about, having steadily avoided it all morning, knowing that once he sat down, he probably wouldn't be able to rise again. Now, faced with the option of heeding Maria's advice or taking a nose dive to the hard floor, he decided the chair was probably the lesser of two evils. His stomach was doing a slow roll inside his chest, and he was dangerously close to embarrassing himself by throwing up all over Annie.

Giving in with a sigh and inwardly cursing his weakness, he allowed the two women to help support him over to the chair, sinking down gratefully into the giant upholstered seat and breathing heavily, as though he had just run a mile instead of walked three steps.

As soon as he was seated, Maria was there, leaning in and invading his space, her fingers resting against the side of his neck as she took his pulse. "Where are you hurt?" she asked briskly, one hand reaching for the zipper of his jacket.

Dean pulled away, clenching his jaw in determination. "Sam first," he insisted, forcing as much strength into the words as he could. Maria looked as if she were about to argue, so he hurried on. "I'm not bleeding and not running a fever, so please, just…just finish with Sam, ok? I'll be fine."

Maria frowned, but after a moment she dropped her hand and backed away a step. "Okay," she conceded, "but you stay in that chair. The last thing I need is for you to pass out on the floor."

"My ass is grounded," Dean assured her, raising both arms in a gesture of surrender.

Maria gave a tight nod, then turned back toward the bed. "I could use an extra pair of hands," she called back to Annie over her shoulder.

"Of course," Annie responded. She glanced down at Dean, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile. He was surprised when she lifted her hand and let the tips of her fingers drift gently down his cheek before turning and following Maria.

Dean let out a long sigh, sinking down into the large chair and letting his head drop down, his eyes sliding closed. He was weary to the bone, his body so heavy he was surprised he didn't just slide right off the chair and sink down through the floorboards. His eyes were burning, and the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders were collaborating together to give him one hell of a headache. He found himself yearning for a hot shower, a couple of strong painkillers, and a nice long nap.

He heard the soft murmur of voices across the room and tried to focus his mind on listening to what they were saying, but he found himself distracted by the swirling light show going on behind his closed lids. If he strained hard enough, he could almost make out a pattern in the tiny pinpricks of light.

"Dean?"

He jerked his head up, his eyes flying open, startled once again by Maria standing directly over him. He realized he had sunk further down in the chair, and sluggishly pushed himself upright, letting out a soft grunt of pain as his injured abdomen complained at the movement.

"It's time to let me take a look at you," Maria ordered, reaching once again for the zipper to Dean's jacket.

Dean shook his head. "After Sam," he argued, annoyed that he had to keep repeating himself.

Maria gave him a tired smile. "I've already finished with Sam. It's your turn now."

Dean wrinkled his forehead in confusion, leaning sideways to glance around Maria at the bed. Sam was lying silent and still, the sheet drawn back up to his waste, his head turned slightly away from Dean. A clean white bandage was wrapped securely around his upper right arm, and someone had taken the time to wipe away the blood and dirt that had stained his skin.

There was no sign of Annie.

Dean glanced up at Maria in surprise. He had just closed his eyes a second ago…hadn't he?

"Are you going to take off the jacket, or do you need me to do it for you?" Maria asked, her hands moving to her hips. Dean noted that she was wearing a fresh pair of gloves and had moved her medical bag over to where it rested at her feet.

"Where is Annie?" he asked, trying to delay the inevitable for just a moment longer.

"I sent her into the house to get some food and water. You'll need to eat if you want to keep up your strength."

Dean grimaced, not at all sure that his stomach was up for food just yet. "I'd settle for a couple of painkillers instead," he grumbled, rubbing at his face with his hands and pressing the pads of his fingers against his burning eyes.

"After I take a look at you," Annie replied, her hands still resting on her hips, her eyes knowing as she looked down at him.

With a small sigh, Dean reached up and pulled down the zipper to his jacket, leaning forward in the chair as he shrugged the material from his shoulders. The jacket slipped free to pool at his waist, revealing the bandages wrapped snuggly about his lower abdomen.

"How's Sam doing?" he asked, hoping to distract himself as Maria leaned forward and began carefully unwinding the bandages.

"He's holding his own," she responded smoothly, not bothering to pause in her task. "I've given him his first dose of antibiotics, but it will be a while before we start seeing the effects of the medicine. The saline drip has already helped with his blood pressure, but I still intend to head to the hospital at Rock Springs to pick him up some extra blood."

Dean frowned. "It's that bad?" he asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice

Maria paused in un-wrapping the bandage to give Dean a level look. "Your brother lost a lot of blood," she stated softly. "His body could probably eventually make up for it on its own, but it would take a while and he'd be very weak. The transfusion will help speed up his recovery time, and with all that he's been through, I figured he could use the boost."

Dean nodded reluctantly, seeing the wisdom behind her words. The sooner Sam was up and functioning again, the sooner they could take care of Ty and Rawly and leave this town in their dust. "Will you have any trouble getting the blood?" he asked.

Maria shook her head, resuming her unwinding. "I work at the hospital and so have complete access to our inventory. I'll have to account for it in a report, but I can worry about that later."

Dean gave her an appreciative look, understanding how much she was putting on the line in order to help him and his brother. He opened his mouth to thank her, but at that moment Maria pulled the last layer of bandaging away from his chest, the cloth sticking slightly to his skin, and the word's died in a harsh hiss of pain. Maria cast him a sympathetic look, but she didn't pause in pulling the bandage free, revealing the long slash across Dean's lower ribs.

Almost against his will Dean found himself eyeing the wound, his lower lip pulled between his teeth and his stomach doing a slow churn at the sight of his burnt and blackened flesh. Maria made a small clucking sound and leaned in for a closer look, and with an effort Dean tore his eyes away, clenching his jaw and letting his head fall back against the back of the chair.

Maria's fingers were feather light as she gently prodded around the edges of the wound…presumably looking for any sign of hidden pockets of infection…but Dean still couldn't completely hold back a small moan at the fiery pain her touch ignited. By the time she pulled away, he was breathing heavily, his hands clasped into tight fists against his sides, his eyes clenched closed against the pain.

He heard Maria sigh softly. "Believe it or not, this doesn't look half bad," she informed him. "Cauterizing a wound is never my first choice, but at least whoever did this knew what they were doing."

Dean's eyes popped open, and he gave her an incredulous look. "He was _drunk_!" he growled fiercely.

Maria shrugged. "Well, drunk or not, he did a decent job. There's a little redness and swelling around the edges, but no more than is to be expected, all things considered. It's not bleeding at all, and so far looks clear of infection. Burns can be tricky, though. You will need to be careful to keep it clean and moist…I have a burn cream with an antimicrobial in it back at the office that will help. With a little time and rest, you should be fine. Just no more wandering around in the wilderness carrying your brother, okay?"

"Sounds good to me," Dean mumbled.

Maria gave him a small smile. "I'll re-bandage it for now to help protect it until I can bring back the cream."

Dean let out a weary sigh of agreement as Maria pulled a roll of clean bandages from her medical bag and began loosely re-wrapping his torso. His early exhaustion was returning full force, and he was having trouble keeping his lids to stay open.

"Do you want these now, or do you want to wait for Annie to bring some water," Maria asked a moment later, holding out two large white pills. "They'll help with the pain."

Dean didn't bother responding but simply reached out and took the offered pills, tossing them into the back of his throat and swallowing them dry, his eyes sliding closed as soon as he was done.

"Just rest," he heard Maria murmur, pushing his shoulders lightly back until they rested against the back of the chair.

Dean wanted to resist…wanted to force himself to stay awake until he'd had a chance to check on Sam…to see for himself that his brother was okay, but the weight of his exhaustion was simply too great. Sleep claimed him before his head even fully came to rest against the back of the chair.

* * *

When Annie returned to the small guestroom carrying a tray with some water and sandwiches, she found Maria silently cleaning up and replacing her supplies in her black medical bag. A glance toward the chair showed her Dean was finally out, slunk down in the chair, his chest bare but for white bandages wrapped around his torso. Maria had managed to bunch the bed's coverlet between the chair and the dresser, and Dean was leaning heavily against the soft material, his breathing soft and deep.

Moving over to the dresser, Annie placed the tray on the wood surface then glanced down at Dean's sleeping form. She was amazed at the transformation sleep had brought to the young man's face. Gone were the lines of worry, pain and fatigue, replaced by a peaceful expression that had him looking years younger.

"Should I wake him up?" she asked softly, glancing at Maria and indicating the tray of food.

The doctor shook her head without ever looking up from her bag. "No, he needs rest now more than food. He can eat when he wakes up."

Annie pushed the tray of food to the back of the dresser, glad she had wrapped the sandwiches so they would stay fresh for at least a while. She turned to watch Maria work, feeling at a sudden loss as to what to do next. In the space of a few hours her world had been turned upside down, and she still wasn't quite sure how to process everything that had happened. She couldn't help the feeling that ever since she had first laid eyes on Dean in the bar and grill, fate had grabbed hold of her and was dragging her along a path leading who knew where. She felt excited and overwhelmed all at once, driven along by instinct and adrenaline, unsure where it would all end.

"Thanks for helping us," she told Maria, keeping her voice low.

Maria glanced up, her gaze sweeping across the two sleeping men. "I'm still not entirely sure what I've gotten myself into," she admitted with a small smile. "I'm a doctor, and I consider it my duty to help those in need, but I'm still not sure it wouldn't have been better to turn all this over to the state police and let _them_ deal with it. Then at least Sam could be in a hospital where he belongs."

Annie shook her head. "Dean seemed to think it would be dangerous to contact the authorities," she reminded the doctor. "Ty has people in high places who may try to silence us if we speak out against him."

Maria met her gaze and gave a small shrug. "I'll admit his reasoning is sound, but I'm a little worried about his motive."

"What do you mean?" Annie asked.

"Think about it, Annie," Maria replied, snapping her bag closed and taking a step closer. "If Dean claims it's too dangerous to contact the police, who do you think is going to take care of this whole mess?"

Annie frowned, her gaze drifting to Dean's slumbering form. "You think he plans on taking on Ty and Rawly on his own?" she asked slowly, concerned with the idea.

Maria shrugged. "I certainly wouldn't put it past him."

Annie remembered the coldness in Dean's voice when he had assured her that Ty and Rawly would not escape their crimes, and she couldn't help the small shudder that crept up her spine.

"What are we going to do?" she asked softly. She barely knew Dean, but somehow the thought of him getting himself killed going after Ty and Rawly on his own terrified her.

Maria sighed. "Nothing for now. I doubt he'll be up to trying anything anytime soon…we'll have time to make a decision later. But in the end, I don't think we're going to have much choice _but_ to go to the authorities…risky or not."

"It's hard to believe that something like this is happening in Denton," Annie sighed, shaking her head. "I feel like this is all some horrible nightmare that I'm going to wake up from any moment."

Maria gave her a sympathetic look. "It has been my experience that evil will show up in _any_ place at any time…Denton being no exception. It just makes it harder when it involves people you know."

Annie nodded, thinking of the number of times she had served Ty at the bar and grill. He had always been polite and courteous to her, and yet she couldn't deny that there had always been something about him that had felt slightly off. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for her to believe Dean's story.

"I'm going to head back to the clinic to pick up some more supplies," Maria informed her, turning and heading for the door.

"Need any help?" Annie asked quickly, causing the doctor to pause with her hand on the door knob. She wasn't quite sure why she had asked, only that being around the two brothers was stirring up old memories that she had thought long buried, and she wasn't quite ready to be alone in the silence to face them.

She thought at first that Maria was going to turn her down, but after a moment the doctor gave a small shrug. "Sure. We shouldn't be gone too long, and they both will likely be out for a while. We'll take my van."

Annie gave her a grateful smile and they left the room quietly, Maria flipping off the overhead light as they went.

The drive to the clinic was a short one, and as soon as they arrived, Maria pointed Annie to the small storage closet located off the main lobby, directing her to look for an old camp cot she had stowed away there. "Dean's going to need something better to sleep on than that old chair," she commented, heading back toward her office. "I'm going to just grab a few things and make a couple of phone calls, and then I'll be right out."

Annie nodded, then headed into the storage room, relieved to find the small room neat and organized. She had little difficulty locating the old camp cot, and was surprised to find it rather light, the frame made out of hollow aluminum. Hoisting it under one arm, she headed back out to the van.

She had just finished maneuvering the cot into place across the back seat when the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind her. Expecting Maria, she turned and opened her mouth, planning on asking the doctor if she had any spare blankets or pillows to go with the old cot.

The words died in her mouth, however, when instead of Maria, she found herself face to face with Ty Gallups.

Her gasp of surprise was pure reflex, and she stumbled back a step, her eyes widening of their own accord.

"Good morning, Annie," Ty drawled in his deep voice, peering at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson.

"M…morning," Annie stammered back in an automatic reply, her hands fluttering nervously at her side, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt her cheeks flood with color and quickly dropped her gaze to the sidewalk, fighting off the sudden desire to run away…to put as much distance between herself and Ty as possible.

_Get ahold of yourself, girl_! she thought desperately, trying to calm her breathing and slow the wild beating of her heart.

"I'm kinda surprised to see you here," he commented lightly, the question obvious in the tone of his voice.

Annie risked a quick peek up at him, trying frantically to come up with a good explanation for her presence at the clinic. Her brother had always told her she was a horrible liar, and yet to remain silent would be even worse. The last thing she wanted to do was raise Ty's suspicions.

She was saved from having to come up with an answer, however, by Maria's sudden arrival, the doctor sweeping up to them smoothly, her features calm and relaxed. "Good morning, Ty," she greeted politely. "I hope you haven't come to see me…I'm afraid the clinic is closed for the afternoon. There's been an emergency, and the hospital has called me in to work."

Annie breathed out a small sigh of relief as Ty's gaze shifted from her to the doctor.

"Good morning, Dr. Juarez," he replied smoothly. "I actually _was_ coming to see you, but not for an appointment. Do you have a moment to talk?"

Maria gave him an apologetic shrug. "Only if you make it fast," she answered. "Like I said, there's been an emergency and I really need to be going."

Ty's smile looked slightly strained. "I'm looking for two men," he stated without preamble. "One of them is tall with long, dark brown hair, and the other is shorter, with lighter hair and green eyes. You haven't happened to see anyone matching that description around here lately, have you?"

Maria appeared to consider for a moment before shaking her head. "I don't believe so," she answered slowly. "Why are you looking for them?"

Ty gave a small shrug. "Sheriff Rawly believes they may be a couple of guys on the run from the FBI," he explained. "They've been spotted in the area and are considered highly dangerous."

"Oh my," Maria replied, her eyebrows arching. "That certainly sounds ominous. I'll be sure to keep an eye out and let the sheriff know if I see anything suspicious. Now, if you'll excuse me…" she made to move past Ty, but he put out a quick hand to stop her

"One other thing," he stated. "At least one of the men is believed to be injured. If they are in the area, there's a chance they may try to break into the clinic for supplies."

Maria raised one eyebrow. "I keep it locked up when I'm gone," she assured him.

Ty shook his head. "That may not be enough. With your permission, we would like to keep a watch on it while you're away."

"Be my guest," Maria answered. "And be sure to tell the sheriff how much I appreciate how well he looks after this town."

Annie almost choked with this last statement, but quickly turned the sound into a cough. Maria turned to her with a smile. "Annie, dear, thanks so much for volunteering your day off to help me organize my storage room. Let me give you a lift home before I head to the hospital."

Annie nodded, and stumbled toward the passenger door of the van, mumbling a quick goodbye to Ty as she slipped past. She could sense his eyes following her, but didn't look up. Only when she was safely inside the van and Maria was pulling away from the clinic did she allow herself to breathe out a deep sigh of relief, her eyes flashing to the side-view mirror. Ty was still standing in front of the clinic watching them, but even as she looked he turned and began walking away down the street.

"Do you think he suspects anything," she asked breathlessly, glancing over at Maria. She was impressed with how calm and collected the doctor had remained through the entire encounter, and couldn't help but feel a little ashamed at her own poor performance.

Maria didn't answer right away, her gaze flickering to the rearview mirror. "I don't think so," she finally replied, but Annie noticed that her hands were trembling slightly as she gripped the steering wheel.

Somehow the knowledge that Maria was not as unshakable as she had seemed brought little comfort to her, and she spent the remainder of the trip back to the house with her eyes glued to the rearview mirror.

* * *

Sam woke with no memory of where he was or how he had gotten there.

His transfer from sleep to wakefulness was abrupt, leaving him feeling disoriented and confused, his head rolling against the soft pillow beneath him as he blinked blearily about him. The room where he was lying was heavily shadowed, lit only by a dim lamp on a dresser near the bed, and there was a quiet stillness to the air that reminded him of the deep hours of night.

He lay quietly for a moment, listening to the silence around him…trying to piece together the hazy shards of his memory. Eventually he tried to push himself upright in the bed, but found that he was simply too weak, his body weighed down, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. His lack of ability to move left him feeling helpless and vulnerable, and the beginnings of panic gripped the edges of his mind.

"Dean?"

His whispered call was instinctual, a reaction he had developed when he was younger and had woken to countless unfamiliar rooms with the need for something familiar to help reassure and comfort him. He wasn't a child anymore, but he couldn't deny that at that moment he needed his brother's familiar presence.

He heard a soft grunt from somewhere to his side and rolled his head in that direction, watching as his brother's shadowy form rose up from a narrow cot in the corner of the room. Casting aside his blankets, Dean rose and reached the edge of the bed in three steps, his hair disheveled and his face heavy with sleep.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was deep and rough, the way he sounded each morning before he'd had his shower and cup of coffee.

"Hey," Sam replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over him at the sight of his brother. Dean looked ragged and unkempt, his eyes sunken and exhausted, the rough growth of a beard shadowing his chin, but at that moment he was one of the most beautiful sights Sam had ever seen. He felt Dean's hand come to rest on his shoulder, and he couldn't help but lean slightly into the comfort of the familiar touch.

"How are you feeling?" Dean's voice was full of concern.

Sam considered his brother's question. Besides being as weak as a newborn, his body ached fiercely, the pain bone deep and pervasive. His right shoulder throbbed in time with each heartbeat, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming directly behind his eyes.

He settled on the customary Winchester response. "I'm okay…just a little thirsty."

Dean grunted, and a moment later the weight of his hand left Sam's shoulder as he straightened and maneuvered around the end of the bed toward the dresser. Sam watched him, noticing for the first time that Dean was shirtless, his lower chest wrapped in heavy white bandages, his movements stiff and careful. He frowned, trying once again to remember exactly what had happened to them, frustrated at the fogginess in his brain that left it hard to think.

Dean grabbed a glass of water from the end of the dresser, then turned back to the bed, his gaze sweeping over Sam's prone form. "Think you can sit up?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Give me a hand?" he requested, and Dean quickly set the cup back down on the bedside table and moved to his side. Together they managed to maneuver Sam into a sitting position against the headboard, the effort taking Sam's breath away and leaving him shaky and in pain, but relieved to be off his back and upright.

Dean gave him a moment to collect himself before holding out the glass of water. As Sam reached for it, he became aware of the IV needle taped halfway down his forearm. Following the tube protruding from his arm with his eyes, he noted the two empty drip bags hanging from the top of headboard, one of them stained red around the edges. _Blood? _His confusion grew, and his gaze flew to Dean's face.

"What the hell happened, Dean," he blurted. "Where are we, anyway?"

"We're at Annie's house," Dean replied wearily, turning and quickly rooting around on the bedside table. "Or more specifically…in the guestroom attached to her garage."

"Annie?" Sam repeated, his forehead wrinkling slightly as he tried to recall if he should know who that was.

"She's a waitress I met at the bar and grill," Dean explained, turning back to the bed with two large white pills in his hand. "Take these," he ordered, thrusting the pills in Sam's direction.

Sam frowned suspiciously at the pills, and Dean let out a sigh, shaking his hand impatiently. "They're painkillers, Sam," he grumbled.

Despite the heavy ache in his body, Sam still hesitated. "Will they make me loopy?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, his features breaking out into a tired smile. "What's the matter, Sammy? No 'elephants on parade' for you tonight?"

"It's '_pink _elephants on parade'," Sam muttered, reaching out for the pills, rolling his eyes at his brother's reference to one of his favorite childhood movies. Dean had always made fun of him for watching _Dumbo, _but Sam had liked the movie because he found it was easy to relate to. He had always thought of himself as an outcast…a freak, and there had been times when he wished he could just sprout wings and fly away from it all.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean replied, watching as Sam downed the pills then handed him the empty cup. Replacing it on the bedside table, Dean sank wearily down on the edge of the bed, glancing at Sam from the corner of his eyes. "How much do you remember?" He asked.

Sam frowned at the question. He remembered escaping the camp with Dean, sheltering in a small alcove while they waited for the worst of the storm to pass, heading out in the drizzling rain to head toward Denton…It was then that his memories became a little hazy. He could vaguely remember stumbling through the trees, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, and then nothing but a murky collage of lights, sounds and sensations…of heat and weakness and burning pain. And through it all, he could remember his brother's voice, the familiar timbre and smooth cadence offering Sam a desperately needed lifeline to cling to as he drifted through the darkness and agony.

"Not much after we left the alcove," he admitted, staring at his brother's profile. "I take it I checked out on you again?"

Dean shrugged. "Not fully…I mean, you were still walking on your own, for the most part, but you weren't really _there_, if you know what I mean."

Sam nodded. "So, you managed to haul both of us back to town. Then what? You just decided to find this waitress you had only met once and ask her to help us? Whatever happened to 'trust no one'?"

Dean looked at him, the light from the small lamp revealing half his face while casting the other half in heavy shadow. "Didn't have much choice, Sammy," he answered softly. "Things got pretty rough there for a while."

There was something hidden in his brother's voice…a haunted tone that left Sam wondering exactly how close he had come to not waking up. He glanced down at the bandage around his right arm, then over to the IV sticking from his left. "You do this?" he asked quietly.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. You actually got a real doctor for a change. Maria Juarez. Annie told her our story and she's agreed to help us. Already _has_ helped us. She stitched you up and even drove to the hospital to pick up some blood for you."

Sam shook his head, somehow not at all surprised that even ragged and worn his brother had managed to pick up not one, but _two_ women willing to throw their lot in with him. "So where are they now?" Sam asked, glancing around the small room. "Your lady friends, I mean."

"Maria left as soon as your fever broke and your vitals were stable." Dean replied. "She'll be back in the morning. Annie went to bed around midnight."

"What time is it now?"

Dean twisted on the bed to glance toward the dresser, wincing slightly, his hand coming up to circle his waist. "Almost four AM," he replied, turning back to face Sam. "You always were an early riser, Sammy."

"How're you feeling?" Sam asked, eyeing the arm his brother had wrapped around his bandaged torso.

Dean shook his head, dropping the arm down into his lap. "I'm fine, Sam" he replied simply. "Tired…but then, _I_ didn't spend almost twenty-four hours napping, either." He cast Sam a sly look.

Sam nodded slowly. "Just answer me one question, Dean," he asked, causing his brother to turn and face him, arching a questioning eyebrow. "Do I look as bad as you do?"

Dean blinked, then his face split into a wide grin. "Ten times worse, Sammy…as always."

Sam sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. Just make sure you don't let me near any mirrors anytime soon."

"Will do, kiddo," Dean replied, and Sam returned his smile with one of his own.

A moment later though he felt the smile slip from his face to be replaced with a serious expression. "What are we going to do now?" he asked, reaching up carefully with his left hand to rub at his burning eyes.

Dean shrugged. "I wouldn't be opposed to going back to bed for a few hours," he replied, eying Sam critically. "Despite your extended siesta, you look like you could use some more rest yourself."

Sam shook his head. "That's not what I meant, Dean. I was talking about Ty and Rawly."

Dean sighed. "I honestly haven't had a lot of time to think about it, Sam. I know we need to take care of them, I just haven't figured out the _how_ yet."

"And by 'take care of them' you mean…?" Sam prompted.

Dean turned to face him, his face expressionless, his eyes shining dully in the dim light. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to…Sam already knew exactly what his brother was thinking.

"They're human, Dean," he pointed out quietly, studying his brother's face intently.

"They're monsters," Dean retorted immediately, his voice hard. "Just because they're not what we normally deal with doesn't make them any less evil. Who knows how much blood they have on their hands…how many lives they've taken. It has to stop…_we_ have to stop it!"

"I agree," Sam said quickly, shifting forward slightly on the bed, grimacing in discomfort. "But we don't kill humans, Dean." He tried to make his voice forceful, frustrated by his weakness.

"Sometimes we don't have a choice," Dean answered softly, dropping his gaze to his lap, hiding his face, but not before Sam caught a glimpse of sadness and regret in his brother's expression.

Sam closed his eyes, feeling his weariness drag at him. "Maybe," he murmured, "but we have to draw the line somewhere, Dean, or we'll just end up as bad as them. There has to be another way."

Dean shook his head. "Sure there is," he replied, raising his gaze to Sam once more. "We can always call the police like Annie and Maria have been trying to convince me to do all night. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to come out here and investigate, especially after we give them our names. Hell, why don't we just skip right to it and call Agent Hendrickson directly…it should make his day. Of course, then we have to deal with the whole "credible witnesses" thing, and being thrown into jail for the rest of our lives, but I'm sure _that_ will all turn out okay…"

"Okay, okay," Sam broke in, interrupting his brother's tirade. "I'm not suggesting we call the police, Dean. But there has to be _something_ we can do. Ty has to keep some form of records…information on his clients and the people he's paid off. Maybe we can just…you know…break into his house …try to find it. We get that info into the right hands and there's no way he wiggles his way out of this. We just can't…

Dean cut him off by raising one hand sharply, his head snapping up to face the doorway, his whole body going instantly taut.

Sam was taken aback by Dean's sudden reaction, and his gaze followed his brother's to the door, his muscles tightening slightly in response to Dean's apprehension. "What is it?" he breathed, his voice whisper soft.

Dean shook his head and didn't immediately answer, his head tilted slightly to one side as he listened intently. A minute passed, then another one, and still Dean sat frozen, his gaze locked on the door, the air around him positively crackling with silent tension.

Just when Sam thought he could take the silence no longer, his brother suddenly relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly in weary relief. He cast Sam an apologetic look. "Sorry," he muttered. "I thought I heard something. I guess I'm feeling a little…"

Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by the sudden sound of shattering wood as the door to the small room exploded inward. Dean swore and leapt to his feet, but before he could take even a single step forward, a dark figure stepped through the broken fragments of the door and into the room.

Sam had only an instant to recognize the tall form of Ty Gallups before the man raised his hand, the lamplight glinting from the black muzzle of a revolver, the gun aimed directly at Dean's chest, pulling his brother up short.

Time seemed to slow even as Sam felt his heartbeat pick up pace, his hands balled helplessly in the sheets of the bed. Ty took a single step forward, the snap of his booted feet sounding loud in the suddenly silence.

"Hello Dean," he drawled softly. "Did you miss me?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:**_ Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while._

**Summary**_**: **__While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2._

**A/N—**_Thank you everyone for the gracious responses to the last chapter. They really encouraged me. _

_Thanks also to firstcatfish for beta reading this for me._

_I hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter 9**

It had taken Ty a while to figure it out.

Too long, really, considering all the evidence had been right there before him the whole time.

He and his men had spent a full night and day searching for the Winchesters, but the heavy overnight rain had washed away any tracks, and Ty had finally been forced to admit that the boys were either lost in the wilderness, or they had somehow managed to make it back to Denton.

Leaving most of his men searching the wilds, he had returned to town where he and Rawly had spent most of the afternoon and well into the evening searching every abandoned building, church and warehouse in Denton, all with no luck. Rawly had been ready to admit defeat, but Ty had refused to give up. He knew what was at stake if they failed.

It was well after midnight, as he was driving a lonely stretch of highway several miles south of town that the pieces had finally settled to place within his mind. All it had taken was a flash of memory…a vision of walking into the bar and grill to find Annie leaning casually against the small table, chatting amiably with Dean, her face lit up with a shy smile. The memory was innocent enough as it was, but when he remembered Annie's strange behavior outside of the clinic, the first sparks of suspicion flared to life within his mind. Annie had acted nervous…even afraid of him, and though at the time Ty had assumed her behavior was the result of him startling her, he was suddenly no longer sure. After all, as far as Ty knew, Annie was the only connection Dean had made in town…the only person he would have known to go to for help.

And then there was Dr. Juarez. While her behavior hadn't been overtly suspicious, there had been something about her…a tension hidden just beneath the surface that didn't jive at all with her normally bold and confident personality. Her excuse of being called into work on an emergency was certainly believable enough, but it was also very possible that she had other reasons for needing to close the clinic.

It had taken a single call down to the hospital in Rocks Springs, and his suspicions had been confirmed.

Speeding back to town, Ty immediately called Rawly, pulling the man from his bed with a terse order to meet him at Annie's house immediately. He knew there was a chance that the boys were at the doctor's house, but if he had to put money on it, he would have wagered they were with Annie. He knew she had a guestroom at the back of her house, and taking in two complete strangers was something he could see her doing. She had always been too trusting for her own good.

Arriving at the house, he found everything dark and quiet, the only sound disturbing the peace of the night the incessant chirp of insects. Sheriff Rawly was already there, his face red and puffy from sleep, his lips pulled down in a deep frown.

"Are you _sure_ about this, Ty," he grumbled, approaching from the front of his squad car. "Cause if you're wrong…"

"I'm not wrong," Ty snapped. "They're here, I know it. Annie and the doctor have been helping them."

Ralwy grimaced. "So what's the plan?" he asked. "You want to call in some of the boys?"

Ty shook his head. "No, we take care of this now…ourselves," he answered shortly. "We'll have the element of surprise on our side." Things had already been allowed to get far too out of hand. He wanted this ended…tonight!

"And Annie and the doctor?" Rawly asked, loosening his gun in its holster on his belt.

"They have to be silenced," Ty replied coldly, pulling his own revolver free. "Undoubtedly they know too much. They're a liability that we can't afford."

Rawly didn't look very happy, but he nodded his agreement, his jaw tightening into a determined line. Together they moved across the front lawn toward the small gate leading into Annie's backyard. Once they were through the gate, Ty motioned Rawly toward the back door of the house. "Go and get the girl," he ordered in a whisper before moving off down the path toward the guesthouse.

The sky was just starting to lighten with a pre-dawn glow, and the pathway down toward the garage was heavily shadowed. So intent was his focus on the building at the end of the path that Ty missed the small flower pot sitting to one side of the sidewalk. The edge of his boot just barely brushed against the edge of the pot, but it was enough to cause it to topple over with a loud clatter. Ty froze, his gaze locked on the building in front of him, his hand tightening its grip on his gun. He stood silently for nearly a minute, his eyes on the dim light spilling from beneath the guestroom door.

Eventually he continued his trip down the path, creeping silently up to the door where he leaned in close, listening intently for any sound from within. There was only silence, but Ty didn't let that fool him. He didn't bother trying the door handle, afraid that jiggling the knob might alert those inside to his presence. The door looked flimsy enough he knew he could bring it down with a solid kick or two, and Annie's nearest neighbors lived far enough away he wasn't too worried about the sound carrying.

Stepping back, he shifted his weight onto his left leg before lifting his right and slamming it with all of his strength against the door, right beneath the handle. The door shattered beneath the blow, pieces of wood flying, and Ty darted inside, his gaze sweeping the room before coming to rest on the startled faces of the two men inside.

Dean had just risen from the edge of the bed and taken a single step forward when Ty leveled his revolver at the man's chest, feeling a surge of relief and triumph wash over him. At long last…

"Hello, Dean," he drawled softly, "Did you miss me?"

* * *

At Ty's softly spoken words, Dean moved to one side to stand between the tall man and his brother, using his body to shield Sam. It was a subtle move, but Ty didn't miss it, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You've caused me quite a bit of trouble, Dean," he commented stiffly, the gun never wavering as it pointed straight toward Dean's chest.

Dean didn't bother to respond but merely raised his chin and met the man's stare with a steady one of his own. His heart was hammering wildly within his chest, but he allowed none of his fear to show as he continued to meet Ty's gaze, waiting to see what the man would do next.

"Dean?" Sam called softly into the silence, his voice sounding nervous. Dean heard the rustle of sheets as his brother shifted in the bed.

"Stay still, Sam," he ordered, his voice sounding rough, his eyes never leaving Ty's face.

One corner of Ty's mouth turned up in a mocking grin. "Don't worry, Sam," he called. "I'll be getting to you in a moment. But right now, your brother and I have some unfinished business to attend to."

"How did you find us?" Dean demanded, drawing the man's attention away from Sam and back to himself. Ty was standing too far way to lunge at without giving the man plenty of time to get a shot off, but if Dean could get him to step closer, he thought he might be able to disarm the man. It was a long shot, but Dean was determined to take it if given the chance.

"Does it matter?" Ty answered smugly. "The important thing is I _did_ find you. And I know you got yourself some help, too…pretty little Annie and the good doctor."

Dean felt his heart sink at Ty's words, and had to fight to keep his features expressionless. Only a brief blink of his eyes gave away the sudden spike of fear he felt for the women's safety.

"I'm kinda surprised at you, Dean," Ty continued, rocking forward a single step, "hiding behind a couple of skirts. I expected more from you."

Dean narrowed his eyes, feeling a rush of anger sweep over him. "Now that's rich, coming from you," he retorted coldly. Lifting his chin slightly, he leveled Ty with a challenging glare. "If you think I'm such a coward, why don't you put down that gun and face me like a man?"

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Dean could have sworn he saw a flash of fear pass through Ty's eyes. "You think I'm stupid?" he asked incredulously, his grip tightening on the handle of his gun.

"No, I think you're a yellow-bellied shithead of a coward who only feels like a man when hiding behind his gun," Dean retorted, pouring all the disdain he could summon into his voice. It was a risk…goading Ty into a fight, but it sure beat sitting around waiting for the man to put a bullet in his head. He was weak and injured, but if Ty agreed to fight him…he would tear the man apart.

Ty's features darkened angrily, but before he could reply there was the sound of a small scuffle from directly outside, followed by a breathless cry of pain. A moment later Sheriff Rawly stepped through the door, his gun in one hand and Annie's elbow held firmly in the other. Annie was dressed in a simple white night gown, her hair loose about her shoulders, her face tight with fear.

At the sight of her, Dean took a small step forward, his hands clenching into fists at his side. "Let her go, Ty," he growled, anger making his voice come out harsh. "This is between you and me..."

"That's where you're wrong, Dean," Ty replied shortly, his face still flushed with anger. "You're the one who got her involved in this. Her blood is on _your_ hands!"

Annie whimpered slightly at Ty's statement, her gaze flying to Dean's face, her eyes desperate. Dean wanted to tell her everything was going to be okay…wanted to comfort her, but he knew the words would come out sounding hollow and empty. He had known when he first involved her that he was putting her at risk, but he had done it anyway…to save his brother. Now he found himself wondering how much more innocent blood he would be responsible for before this all ended. At that moment he almost wished Ty _would_ shoot him in the head; that way he wouldn't be forced to watch Annie die…watch _Sam_ die…and all because he had screwed up.

"Put her over there," Ty ordered, jerking his chin in the direction of the chair at the end of the dresser.

Keeping his gun on Dean, Rawly dragged Annie over to the chair and then roughly shoved her into it, eliciting a small cry from the girl. "Don't move," he ordered tersely, before turning his attention back to Dean.

"Now, where were we?" Ty asked, stepping forward until he was only a few feet away from Dean.

Dean's felt his body vibrating from his pent up energy. He wanted to reach out and knock the gun from Ty's hand and proceed to beat the man bloody, but he was too aware of Sam sitting helpless in the bed behind him…of Annie huddled in the chair. Any foolish move on his part, and Rawly would kill them both before Dean had a chance to blink.

Without warning Ty drove his fist forward, straight into Dean's bandaged torso, the blow driving all the air from Dean's lungs and causing him to double over as white hot pain washed over him. The first blow was followed just as quickly by a second to Dean's side, then a third to his kidneys and finally a fourth to the side of his head. The last blow drove Dean to his knees, stars exploding around the edges of his vision.

He distantly heard Sam cry out, his brother's voice angry and fearful, but the sound was lost in a roaring rush of pain as Ty continue his assault, alternating between fists and booted feet as he mercilessly drove Dean to the floor.

* * *

When Sam saw his brother go down, a surge of fear driven adrenaline rushed through him, and he rolled from the bed and to his feet, yanking the IV from his arm as he went.

"Dean!" he cried, stumbling forward in an attempt to go to his brother's aid.

He had taken no more than a step before a strong arm grabbed him from behind, twisting his injured arm up and behind him, causing him to cry out at the sudden pain. A second later, the cold barrel of the sheriff's gun came to rest directly below his ear, the sharp metal digging into the skin of his neck, causing him to arch his head back and away from the bruising pressure.

"Not so fast, kid," Rawly growled into his ear. "You and I have some unfinished business of our own.

Sam struggled weakly, but it was no use…the sheriff had a tight hold on him and was not letting go. He could only watch helplessly as Ty continued to beat his brother to the floor.

"Leave him alone, you son of a …," Sam broke off as Rawly dug the barrel of his gun deep into his neck, forcing his head back and causing him to gasp in pain.

Ty glanced in their direction, finally taking a small step back, Dean lying bloody and unmoving at his feet. "What's wrong, Sam?" he taunted, his eyes cold as he took a small step in their direction. "Feeling left out?"

Sam let out a small growl in response, the only sound he could make with his head angled so far back. Ty made a motion with his hand, and Rawly released some of the pressure against his neck, allowing Sam to pull his head back to a more comfortable angle. His injured arm was still pulled painfully up behind his back, the sheriff's hand gripping his wrist tightly, but his left arm hung freely at his side.

"You know, I really should be giving you the same treatment," Ty taunted him coldly. "After all, you're the one responsible for this mess in the first place. Do you have any idea how much money you and your brother have cost me?"

"Go to hell," Sam managed to gasp out, his eyes stinging from a combination of pain and anger.

"You first," Ty hissed, "but not until you tell me everyone you've talked to…everyone you've _seen_ since getting back to town. We know about Annie and the doctor…is there anyone else?"

Sam clenched his jaw and remained silent, glaring back at Ty defiantly.

Ty slowly shook his head. "You shouldn't test me, boy," he hissed. "I think you know that you and your brother are both dead, but it's up to you how it all ends. I can make it quick and painless, or I can send you from this world screaming in agony." To drive home his point, Ty viciously kicked out at Dean once more.

Sam let out a frustrated curse, his eyes on his brother. He'd thought Dean was unconscious, but at Ty's kick, Dean groaned and pulled his body into a protective ball at Ty's feet. Sam felt sick as he looked down at his brother's battered form, but a slight movement of Dean's hand suddenly caught his attention, and a moment later he realized his brother was slowly inching his fingers down toward his boot, his fetal position putting him within range of the knife hidden there.

Sam's eyes flew back up to Ty, hoping the man hadn't noticed Dean's movement. Ty's gaze was fixed steadily on him, his expression expectant, and Sam knew he had to keep the man's attention on himself in order to buy Dean time to reach the knife. It was a long shot; one blade against two guns, but at the moment it was the only chance they had.

Grinding his teeth, he stared back at Ty with all the hatred he felt burning through him. "We've already called the feds," he spat, trying to ignore the fierce pain radiating down his arm. "They're already on the way…should be here any time now."

He felt the sheriff stiffen at his words, his grip tightening worriedly, but Ty merely threw back his head and laughed. "You really expect me to believe that, boy?" he snorted. "You and your brother are both wanted men. The last thing you'd do is call the FBI! Nice try, but you're going to have to do better than that." Without looking down, he kicked out at Dean once more, eliciting another small moan from the man on the floor.

"Alright," Sam snapped angrily. "There…there's no one else, okay. We didn't tell anyone else. Just leave him alone!"

Ty looked at Sam for a moment, then his gaze swept to one side. "Is that true, Annie girl? Did these boys include anyone else besides you and the good doctor?" he asked, his voice cold.

Sam had almost forgotten the girl's presence. He rolled his eyes in her direction, unable to turn to face her fully because of the sheriff's grip. Annie was huddled in the large chair, her eyes impossibly wide, her cheeks stained with tears. She jumped at Ty's question, her throat working convulsively. "No," she finally managed to choke out, her voice trembling. "No…there's no one else."

Knowing they were about out of time, Sam couldn't resist another quick glance down at his brother. Dean's hand had reached the top of his boot, his fingers reaching inside, and Sam couldn't help but tense slightly in anticipation. He would need to make his own move at the same time Dean made his. Their only chance would be in the element of surprise.

Ty shifted his gaze away from Annie, his eyes flickering down toward Dean. "You'll never get away with this," Sam blurted out hurriedly, hoping to keep Ty's attention away from his brother for just a moment longer.

Ty laughed, casting Sam a disdainful look. "Of course we will," he replied arrogantly. "In fact, when this is all said and done, the sheriff and I will be hailed as heroes for stopping two cold blooded killers. It's tragic that our actions will have come too late to save Annie and the doctor, but I'm sure the town will mourn easier knowing their murderers were brought to justice." He leveled his revolver at Sam's chests, his expression victorious. "Any last words, Sam?"

Sam swallowed hard, lifting his chin to stare back at Ty defiantly. "Just one," he replied, his blood pounding in his ears, his heart racing in anticipation of impending action.

"NOW!"

At his shout, Dean unfurled from his bent position on the floor, moving with impossible speed as he lunged upward, knife in hand. Ty tried to step away, his gun swinging downward; but he wasn't quite fast enough, and Dean buried the small blade of his knife deep into the back of Ty's knee. Ty screamed in pain, his leg collapsing beneath him, his gun flying from his hand toward the door as Dean delivered a well-aimed chop directly to his wrist.

All this happened in the space of a heartbeat, and if Sam hadn't been expecting it, he would have been unable to take advantage of the brief moment of surprise that temporarily left Rawly frozen in shocked disbelief. Without waiting to see Ty hit the floor, Sam drove his left elbow back into Rawly's gut with all the force he could muster. Rawly let out a grunt of pain, his hold on Sam loosening for just an instant. Sam used the moment to twist out and away, wrenching his arm free from Rawly's grip even as he reached up with his left arm to grasp the man's wrist, forcing the gun up and away. The weapon discharged, sounding loud in the small confines of the room, the bullet slamming harmlessly into the ceiling above Sam's head and raining pieces of plaster down around them.

Rawly swore, attempting to wrench his arm free from Sam's grip, but Sam held on tightly, desperation lending him strength. He tried to kick out at the Sheriff's leg in an attempt to knock the man off balance, but Rawly dodged the blow, his features twisting in a grimace of determination. They shuffled back and forth, each one struggling to overpower the other, the gun wavering in the air between them.

Sam knew he didn't have the strength to keep up a prolonged fight…already he could feel himself weakening, the burning pain in his arm making it hard to maintain his grip on the gun. He stumbled back, grunting with effort, only to feel the edge of the bed pressing up against the back of his knees. The sudden contact threw him off balance, and with a roar Rawly pressed forward, shoving him roughly, wrenching his gun free even as Sam sprawled back helplessly across the bed.

Taking a few quick steps back, the sheriff aimed the gun down at Sam's chest, his features triumphant. "This time I won't miss," he hissed, his hand tightening on the gun's handle.

Before he could pull the trigger, however, the lamp from the desk suddenly slammed into the back of his head, shattering on impact and casting the room instantly into heavy shadow. Rawly stumbled forward, off balance from the blow, and Sam used the man's forward momentum against him as he pushed himself upright in the bed and drove his fist into the Sheriff's throat. He didn't pull the blow as he otherwise might have, needing to drop the man fast so he could get to his brother. He felt the flesh of Rawly's neck give way with sickening ease beneath the power of his strike, and the man went down hard, his hands flying to his throat, his gun skittering away across the floor to disappear into the darkness beneath the bed.

Sam tried not to listen to the gurgling gasps of the injured man at his feet, his eyes darting across the room to where Annie stood, the shattered remains of the lamp still clutched in one hand, her eyes wide and horrified. He barely spared her a glance, however, his eyes darting instead to the two shadowy forms wrestling on the floor at the foot of the bed. In the dim light it was hard to tell which was his brother, and he started forward, only to be drawn up short by a wave of dizziness so strong he was forced to lean against the bed to keep from falling on his face.

"Sam!?"

His brother's frantic cry had him jerking upright, blinking to clear his vision even as the room was suddenly lit by a bright slash of light. A glance to the side showed him Annie had turned on the light in the small adjacent bathroom, her body halfway hidden in the doorway, her eyes glued on the struggling forms at the foot of the bed.

Sam turned back toward the two combatants in time to see Dean deliver two sharp punches into Ty's face, the blows driving the man's head back against the floor. Then his brother rolled smoothly to one side, his hand thrusting beneath the bed and emerging a second later gripping Rawly's dropped gun. Pushing himself swiftly to one knee, Dean aimed the gun at Ty's head, causing the man to go instantly still.

"Sam!" Dean called again, his voice filled with the same panicked desperation as before, his eyes never leaving Ty's face.

"I'm okay," Sam called back hurriedly, realizing where the fear in his brother's voice was coming from. "I'm right here, Dean…I'm okay." He repeated, stumbling forward until he stood directly at his brother's back, using the bed's baseboard to help hold him upright.

He saw some of the tension leave his brother's frame as Dean automatically turned his head to glance up at him, as though Dean had to confirm for himself that Sam truly was alright.

It was in that brief moment of distraction that Ty made his move. Unbeknownst to either of them, the man had somehow gotten hold of the knife Dean had used on him earlier, and even as his brother turned to look up at Sam, Ty lunged forward, the blade aimed directly for the exposed side of Dean's neck.

Sam felt a cry build in his throat even as he realized it was too late to warn his brother. He reached out desperately, hoping he might somehow push Dean out of the way of the deadly weapon, when suddenly the loud sound of a gunshot rang out through the small room. Sam watched in frozen surprise as Ty's lunge turned into a limp drop, the man's body slamming into the floor, a bloody hole filling the space where the back of his skull should have been.

Dean let out a surprised curse, jerking backward, and he might have fallen if Sam hadn't reached down and grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. Both brothers' eyes flew to the door, where the figure of a small woman stood outlined by the pre-dawn light, Ty's revolver gripped firmly in one hand, the weapon still trained on Ty's unmoving form.

Sam heard Annie's sharp gasp of surprise from across the room.

"Maria," Dean murmured softly, before slowly toppling sideways and down to the floor.

* * *

If fifteen years as an ER doctor had taught Maria Juarez anything, it was how to take a stressful and emotionally charged situation and deal with it calmly and professionally. It was a necessary trait when someone's life depended on clearheaded thinking and a steady hand, when all you really wanted to do was find some corner and throw up.

But standing in the ruined doorway of Annie's guestroom, the weight of the revolver heavy in her hands, it took every ounce of training and experience to keep from giving in to the overwhelming flood of emotions flowing through her.

Taking a deep, steadying breath as her mentor in medical school had taught her, she slowly lowered the revolver and surveyed the room before her. Ty was lying in a growing puddle of blood a few feet away, Dean lying next to him with Sam kneeling worriedly over him. Sheriff Rawly was face down next to the bed, still and unmoving, and Annie hovered by the bathroom door, her face pale and frightened.

Pushing down her emotional response, Maria snapped into work mode, crouching down and grabbing her medical bag from where she had dropped it before striding resolutely into the room. Careful not to look at Ty's body, she moved over to kneel next to Sam, reaching two fingers out to lay against the artery in Dean's neck. She was relieved to find his pulse steady and strong, but couldn't stop the frown that crossed her face when she took in his bruised and battered form. The bandage around his torso was slightly askew, and Maria could see concerning patches of red soaking through the white material.

She glanced over at Sam, noting the young man looked only marginally better than his brother. His features were far too pale, his eyes hooded, and she guessed that it was merely a combination of adrenaline and an iron will that was keeping him upright.

Turning back to Dean, Maria reached out and removed the gun from his hand, placing it and the revolver at the foot of the bed. Then she gently tapped her fingers against the young man's cheek, calling his name softly. Dean responded almost immediately, groaning roughly, his lashes fluttering before finally slipping open to reveal green eyes clouded with pain and confusion. Beside her, Maria heard Sam let out a deep sigh of relief.

"What happened," Dean muttered groggily, one hand fluttering up to rub at his forehead.

"You passed out," Maria informed him crisply, sitting back on her heels to give the man more breathing room.

Dean's eyes widened slightly, and his gaze snapped to his brother. Sam gave him a tired smile and a small shrug. "I guess it was your turn," he stated softly. "At least you didn't take me down with you."

Dean groaned, pressing the knuckles of his hand hard against his forehead, his eyes screwed shut in pain. "Did someone shoot me in the head?" he asked.

Sam frowned, "No," he replied slowly. "No one shot you in the head."

"In that case…will you?" Dean mumbled, still rubbing at his forehead. "I've got the mother of all headaches."

Sam let out a mirthless laugh, his long hair swaying as he shook his head. "That's what comes from Ty using your skull as a punching bag," he answered wryly.

"Do you think you can make it to the bed?" Maria broke in, ignoring the exchange between the two brothers.

Dean didn't respond, but merely braced his forearms against the floor and used them to push himself up into a seated position, his jaw clenching tightly against the pain. Sam and Maria both reached out to brace his shoulders, and with their help Dean was able to pull himself to his feet and stagger the few feet over to the bed. Sinking down wearily, he flung one arm over his face while the other slid protectively around his injured waist.

Maria turned away from him long enough to grab the sheet from the foot of the bed and throw it over Ty's body. Then she quickly knelt down next to the sheriff, her hand reaching out to search for a pulse, unsurprised when she found none. Straightening, she grabbed a second blanket from the bed, covering his form as well. When she was done, she turned to find Sam watching her, a look of sick horror on his face.

"He's dead?" he asked, his voice coming out rough, a muscle in his jaw jumping slightly.

"Yes," Maria answered simply, feeling a flash of sympathy at the devastated look on the young man's face.

"I knew I hit him hard, but I didn't think…" Sam trailed off, his already pale features turning even paler, and he staggered slightly, one hand reaching out to grab the baseboard of the bed to steady himself.

"Annie," Maria called, and a moment later the girl appeared at her side, still looking shaken and frightened, but at least with a bit more color in her cheeks. "Why don't you help Sam to the chair before he falls over," Maria urged, knowing that having a task to do would help bring Annie out of her shock better than anything. "I'll come and examine him in a minute."

Sam frowned and attempted to push himself upright. "I'm fine," he argued, his features taking on a stubborn cast. "My brother…"

"Is going to be taken care of," Maria finished for him sternly. "Something I can do a lot better without you stumbling around getting in my way."

Sam looked uncertain, but Dean suddenly spoke up from the bed. "It's okay, Sam," he muttered, his voice coming out muffled from beneath his arm. "Just do as she says."

Sam let out a long sigh, but he allowed Annie to grab his elbow and help steer him across the room and over to the chair.

Turning her attention back to Dean, Maria pulled out a pair of gloves and some scissors from her bag and began carefully cutting away the bandages from around his waist. She could see Dean's jaw clench, and the hand at his waist tightened into a fist, but he made no sound as she pulled the bandaging free and peered down at his chest. The burned scab of his wound had broken open in several places, the small cracks steadily oozing blood, but not so much that Maria was overly concerned. The cuts were already beginning to clot around the edges, and she suspected they might completely close on their own if given enough time.

"Where is the burn cream I left with you?" she asked, and Dean flicked one hand halfheartedly toward the bedside table. Opening the drawer, Maria pulled free the bottle of cream and opened it, applying a generous portion to the unbroken section of burned flesh. When she had finished, she placed gauze pads over the bleeding sections and pressed down gently, eliciting the first groan of pain from her patient. With the gauze pads in place, she withdrew a large bandage and placed it over the cut, then used medical tape to tape down the edges of the bandage.

"So what's the diagnosis, doc," Dean asked, finally lowering the arm from across his face and looking at her.

"The wound broke open in a few places," Maria informed him, "but it doesn't look as bad as you might expect. I think it will re-clot on its own. If not, I'll have to reseal it."

"Hell, no," Dean growled, his eyes widening slightly.

"I don't think it will come to that," Maria quickly reassured him, "as long as you lay still…give it a chance to form a scab."

Dean nodded. "Lying still…no problem," he muttered, lifting his arm and draping it across his eyes once more.

Maria gave him a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. "I'm going to go take a look at Sam now. Just rest for a while."

Dean gave a tiny nod, and Maria rose from the bed and turned to go to Sam, broken glass crunching loudly beneath her feet as she moved across the room. She found Annie already removing the bandage from around Sam's upper arm, and she gave the girl a nod of approval that turned quickly into a frown when she realized how badly Annie's hands were shaking.

"Good job, Annie," she encouraged softly, reaching out and touching the young woman's arm. "I can take care of it from here. Why don't you go and sit down somewhere…try to relax a little bit."

Annie nodded, looking relieved, but before she could go Sam reached out and caught her wrist with his hand. Annie looked startled, her eyes flying to his face, but Sam only smiled at her gently.

"I just wanted to say thank you," he spoke quietly, gesturing with his chin toward the broken shards of lamp still scattered over the floor. "For helping my brother and me…and for saving my life back there."

Annie swallowed, her eyes dropping to the ground, her hands fiddling with the cloth of her nightgown. "I didn't even really think," she admitted softly. "I just…sort of reacted."

Sam's smile was kind, and he dropped his hand from her wrist. "You did well…really well," he assured her.

Annie jerked her chin in a quick nod of acceptance before turning and carefully picking her way around the shrouded body of Ty and over to the cot sitting in the far corner of the room. Once there, she sank down on the edge of the cot, her eyes on the floor, her hands folded in her lap.

Maria watched her with concern for a moment, then turned back to Sam. She peered down at the cut across his arm, grateful to see that his stitches were holding nicely. There was a little redness and swelling around the wound, but it already looked much better than it had the night before. Reaching out, she quickly took Sam's pulse, noting it was slightly fast, but nothing like the frantic beat of the previous morning, and his skin felt only slightly warm beneath her fingers. She thought Sam's recovery had been remarkably fast, considering the young man had been on death's door barely twenty-four hours previously. He still looked pretty rough, but considering what these boys had gone through, Maria figured they had a _right_ to look a mess.

Maria smiled at him, aware that she barely had to look down at him even though he was sitting and she was standing. "You're going to be just fine," she assured him, "your stitches are holding nicely and the infection is already much reduced. You may be sore for a while, and I don't want you lifting anything heavy…but I expect a full recovery.

Sam nodded, his gaze flickering toward the bed. "What about my brother?" he asked worriedly.

Maria let out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head in wonderment. It had been just yesterday morning that Dean had been sitting in this exact chair asking her the exact same question with the exact same obvious disregard for his own injuries. The brothers were two peas in a pod.

"With a little time and rest, he'll be alright too," Maria assured him.

Sam nodded slowly, some of the tension draining from his shoulders, his gaze returning to Maria's face. "Thank you, doctor," he told her sincerely.

"Please, call me Maria," she answered smoothly, giving him a quick smile. "I guess we were never formally introduced, seeing as you were unconscious last time I was here."

A ghost of a return smile flitted across his face, and his features were earnest as he replied, "My brother told me everything you've done for us. I can't thank you enough." His eyes flashed toward Ty's body then just as quickly returned to her face. "It looks like we both owe you our lives," he finished quietly.

Maria didn't respond right away, but reached for a fresh role of bandages. "I'm just glad I couldn't sleep and decided to come check on you early," she finally commented quietly, her fingers working quickly and smoothly as she re-wrapped his arm. _And glad that my father taught me how to shoot from a young age_, she added silently.

"How do you do it," Sam asked her wonderingly. When she cast him a questioning look he continued, "How do you stay so calm? Most people in your shoes would probably be in a panic right now."

"Yes, well, most people haven't worked fifteen years in an ER," Maria responded smoothly. "It's part of my job to remain calm in intense situations." She finished tying off his bandage and took a small step back, hesitating briefly before adding, "And it helps that this is not the first time I have come face to face with evil."

Sam gave her a curious look, his head tilted slightly to one side. Maria spared a quick glance over at the bed where Dean lay still and silent, his chest rising and falling evenly, his face still covered by the arm draped across his eyes. Beyond him, Annie sat quietly on the edge of the cot, her eyes still turned down to the floor, her hands playing with the folds of her nightgown.

With a small sigh, Maria turned back to Sam. "When I was twelve, some men broke into my parent's home in Columbia," she explained quietly, unsure what it was about the young man that made her want to share a story she had told to only a very few others. "My father was away, and only my mother, my little sister and I were home. The men raped my mother, all the while telling me that I was going to be next, and then my sister. She was only nine." Maria paused, noting that Sam's expression had darkened slightly, his jaw stiffening in anger at her words.

"I managed to break away," she continued, her gaze fixed on nothing as her mind returned to that terrible day. "I ran into the kitchen where I knew my father kept a gun hidden. When one of the men came to get me, I turned around and shot him in the face. His companion heard the gunshot and ran away…he was never caught. Shortly after that, my family moved to the United States."

Sam swallowed, his features sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes gentle as he looked at her.

Maria shook her head. "About what, Sam? I may have lost my innocence that day, but I saved my family, and to me, it was a sacrifice that was well worth it. I didn't even hesitate. All I could think was… 'they're not going to_ touch_ my sister.' It's amazing what you're willing to do to protect your family."

Sam's gaze flickered over to the bed, his expression softening. "I know what you mean," he said quietly.

Maria watched him, feeling an odd ache in her chest. "I can see that you two are very close," she observed softly.

Sam nodded, his eyes still on his brother's form. "I honestly don't know where I would be right now if it weren't for him. We…we kinda had a rough childhood, but Dean always looked out for me…still does."

"I'm sure it's a two way street," Maria replied.

Sam shrugged, and seemingly against his will his eyes dropped to the shrouded body lying next to the bed. "I try," he whispered.

Maria reached out and gripped his forearm, squeezing lightly to gain his attention. "Don't be too hard on yourself about Sheriff Rawly, Sam," she urged him gently. "Remember that it was _his_ choices that brought him to this place, not you. You just did what you had to do to protect your family."

Sam nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to his lap, but not before Maria caught a glimpse of the unshed tears making his eyes seem unnaturally bright.

"Well," Maria stated briskly, straightening and putting her hands on her hips. "Now that I know that no one is about to bleed out, I guess it's about time we decided what our next move should be."

"About that…" Dean grunted suddenly from the bed, causing both Sam and Maria to jump in startled surprise. Maria had thought him asleep, but Dean's eyes were bright and alert as he lowered his arm from his face and began carefully pushing himself upright in the bed, one hand pressed tightly against the bandage on his chest. "I think it would be wise if you and Annie got out of town as fast as you can."

Maria arched a surprised eyebrow, watching as Dean carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, then sat hunched on the edge for a moment, his arm wrapped protectively around his middle, his face pale. "And where exactly are we supposed to go?" she asked slowly, her eyes moving across the room to meet Annie's startled stare.

Dean glanced at Sam, a silent communication passing between them. "Doesn't matter," Dean replied simply. "Just make sure it's far away from here. Drive for at least two hours…more if you can. Don't go anywhere familiar and don't call anyone to tell them where you are. When you stop, use cash to get a hotel room and don't use your real name."

Maria let out a huff of air, her head shaking incredulously. "You really think that's necessary…" she began, but Dean cut her off.

"Yes." He stated emphatically. "Ty had some rich and powerful men as clients, and once they find out he's dead, they'll go to any lengths to make sure nothing damning gets traced back to them. And if they find out about you and Annie…well, let's just say you'll probably have a couple of contracts put out on you before the day is out."

Maria stared at him in shocked surprise, her mind struggling to comprehend the implications behind his words.

"We're not saying this to frighten you," Sam spoke up from behind her, his voice gentle. "We just want you to understand how serious the situation is."

"So what are we supposed to do," Annie whispered from her position across the room. "We can't hide forever."

"You won't have to," Dean answered her, twisting slightly on the bed to give her a reassuring look. "Once you're settled in somewhere safe, call the FBI and ask for an Agent Henricksen."

Maria shook her head. "And what makes you think this agent Henricksen will believe us?" she asked.

"Just tell him your story," Dean replied smoothly. "The man is an arrogant dickhead, but once you mention Sam and I, I'll guarantee you he will be on the first flight down here, and he won't stop until he's completed a thorough investigation. He can put you and Annie under federal protection until it's all over. But I warn you, it might be a long process."

"And what about you?' Maria asked worriedly. "Will you be coming with us?"

Dean shook his head, his eyes flicking to his brother's once more. "'Fraid we can't do that," he replied simply. "Henricksen is not a big fan of ours."

Sam let out a small grunt of agreement. "Do us a favor," he added with a sigh. "Don't believe everything he might say about us, okay."

Maria frowned, but before she could comment on the strange request, Annie spoke up from across the room

"So is it true? she asked, drawing all eyes to her.

"Is what true?" Dean asked cautiously.

"What Ty said…about you and Sam being wanted men."

Dean let out a long sigh, his head sinking down into his hand as he rubbed wearily at his forehead. Sam shifted his feet nervously, but didn't speak, his eyes on his brother. Finally Dean lifted his head, his gaze tired but steady as he looked from Annie to Maria. "It's a long story," he replied simply, "and one we don't really have time for at the moment. "You'll just have to trust us when we tell you that we're not the bad guys here."

Maria arched one eyebrow, a thousand questions running through her mind, but finally settled for a simple nod of her head, deciding she was probably better off _not_ knowing all the details. She considered herself a pretty good judge of character, and despite having known them for less than a day she found that she trusted these boys. Perhaps it was naive of her, but she couldn't bring herself to believe they were bad. They had acted honorably and respectfully, and their concern for Annie and her was real.

"So what are you going to do?" she asked softly, indicating her acceptance by not pursuing the subject.

Dean merely looked at her and didn't answer, his gaze steady.

"You should leave right away." Sam suggested softly. "The sooner you get out of here, the better."

With a small sigh, Maria accepted the redirect. "First things first," she stated, moving over to where she had left her medical bag on the dresser. She began rooting through the bag, pulling out an assortment of items, including fresh bandages and several small bottles of pills. "Sam, these are for you," she directed, pointing toward the largest of the bottles. "You need to take one pill a day for the next ten days until they're gone…you know the drill." Sam nodded his understanding, and Maria turned her attention to the elder brother. "Dean, continue using that burn cream I gave you earlier and watch the wound for signs of infection. I've also included a bottle of pain pills for both of you, but be careful using them if you plan to drive…they can make you drowsy."

Dean nodded, giving her a grateful look. "Thanks doc," he murmured quietly, "for everything."

Maria nodded, then let out a long sigh before turning to face Annie. "Are you ready to go?" she asked.

Annie rose slowly, her eyes darting around the room, her expression slightly dazed, as though she wasn't quite fully able to comprehend what was going on. Maria knew exactly how she was feeling.

"It's going to be okay, Annie," Dean spoke softly from the bed, his eyes fixed on the girl, his voice low and rough. "I'm sorry about all this, but I know you're going to be okay."

Annie looked back at him, her face flashing through a variety of emotions. She opened her mouth as though to answer, then closed it again, biting her bottom lip.

"It's okay," Dean repeated, his eyes softening in understanding. "Thanks for everything."

Annie nodded slowly, her eyes suddenly welling with tears, and Maria moved forward to grasp her arm in a gentle grip. "Let's go," she murmured, steering Annie toward the door. With a final glance at Dean, Annie allowed herself to be led away; but Maria paused at the doorway.

Sam and Dean watched her silently, their expressions identical, and with a small shake of her head Maria murmured, "Be careful you two," before turning and striding purposefully from the room.

* * *

After the two women left, Sam and Dean sat in silence for several long minutes, simply enjoying the stillness of the early morning, content to be alive and together once again. Eventually Sam shifted in his seat, casting a critical eye over the hunched form of his brother on the edge of the bed.

"You look horrible," he stated simply, running a hand back through his long hair. "I thought you looked rough before, but now…"

Dean lifted his head slowly, casting Sam a dark look, his bruised and battered face adding effect to the glare. "Yeah, well, right back at you," he grumbled, wincing heavily as he pushed himself carefully to his feet.

Sam sighed and copied his brother's movement, biting back a groan as his exhausted and sore body objected to the movement. Both of them were moving slowly and stiffly, and Sam couldn't help but think that they looked like a couple of old men who had strayed too far from the nursing home.

"Dude, we look like a couple of eighty year old grandpas," Dean stated disgustedly, rolling his shoulders slightly and rocking his neck from side to side in an attempt to ease aching muscles.

Sam shook his head at the echo of his own thoughts, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Think they'll be okay?" he asked, jutting his chin in the direction of the ruined door the two women had just exited through.

Dean considered for a moment before slowly nodding. "Maria's one tough gal," he commented, stiffly moving over to the dresser and pulling open the top drawer to retrieve Sam's clothes and his own jacket. "She would make one hell of a hunter," he added, glancing down briefly at Ty's shrouded form. "They'll be okay."

"Yeah," Sam answered, eyeing the torn and stained clothes his brother was handing him with distaste.

"Man, I'd give anything right now for a shower and some fresh clothes," Dean groaned, once again echoing Sam's own thoughts. "I smell like the sweaty back end of a mule."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything…" Sam started, but cut off with a grin at his brother's warning look. "So what's the plan now?" he asked, casting his bloodstained and torn short aside and opting to wear the jacket only.

"We go and get my car," Dean answered simply, shrugging carefully into his own jacket. "And then we get the hell out of town before Henricksen and his minions descend."

"And how do you propose we get to the car?" Sam asked, sincerely hoping his brother wasn't going to suggest they walk.

"Why don't we take Ty's truck," Dean suggested, moving over to the dresser and beginning to stuff the supplies Annie had left for them in his jacket pockets "He won't be needing it anymore. Bet you the keys are in his pocket."

"I'll check," Sam volunteered, crouching down next to the body and flipping the edge of the sheet back just enough so he could reach Ty's jacket pocket. A quick search revealed the keys as well as something else he hadn't been expecting. "Dean?" he called, lifting up his discovery.

His brother turned to look at him, his eyes widening slightly when he saw what Sam was holding up. "Oh thank God," he muttered, stepping forward to take the medallion Sam held swinging from its leather cord. "I thought this was gone for good." Quickly retying the cord, Dean slipped the medallion over his head, breathing out a deep sigh of relief as the charm settled down against his chest. "Now all I need is my car and I'll be a whole man again," he muttered.

* * *

Getting Dean's car turned out to be easier than either of them had expected.

It was still the deep hours of early morning when they pulled into the parking lot of the Sheriff's Office, then followed the narrow lane to the back of the building where a small area had been fenced off to house impounded vehicles. Surprisingly, there was no sign of any guards, and the security camera mounted on the back corner of the building appeared to be unplugged.

They used Ty's truck as a battering ram to break through the gates, then quickly located the Impala. Sam had lost his key…probably during his wild fall down the hill…but a hidden compartment between the bumper and steel frame of the car held a spare one. As Dean circled the vehicle to check for any scratches or dents, Sam retrieved the extra key, then opened the trunk to check on the contents there, relieved to find them undisturbed. He couldn't help but feel a pang of regret when he thought of the clothes and other items they'd left behind at the hotel, but it simply wasn't worth the risk to try and go back for them. Opening the spare medical kit stashed in the trunk, he pulled out the bottle of Ibuprofen and quickly downed three pills.

"I'll drive first," he offered, closing the trunk and heading for the driver's side door. "Why don't you take a couple of the pain pills Maria left us and try to catch a nap."

Dean paused in his inspection to frown in Sam's direction. "What about your arm?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Sam shrugged. "I can drive one handed. You look dead on your feet, man. I've got this."

Dean gave in with a reluctant nod, the ease with which he relented confirming how poorly he must have been feeling. "Pull over if you get tired," he ordered, heading toward the passenger seat.

_I'm already tired,_ Sam thought wryly, but kept it to himself.

Sinking down onto the soft leather seat, Sam let out a sigh of relief, the sound echoed by Dean in the passenger seat, his brother reaching out to run a hand lovingly across the dash board. The familiar feel and scent of the car had Sam thinking such words as _home_ and _safe_, and he found it hard to believe that only a few short days earlier he had been thinking of the Impala as a prison. It was amazing what a couple of days wandering around in the wilderness could do for one's perspective.

"Let's get out of here," Dean muttered from beside him, and Sam was only too happy to comply.

With no particular destination or direction in mind other than _away_, Sam pulled out of the lot and headed out of town. Driving as quickly as the winding and twisting roads would safely allow, he settled back into the seat and tried to focus his mind on something other than his aching body.

After twenty minutes he glanced toward the passenger seat, expecting so see Dean's sleeping form, but his brother was still awake, his back angled against the passenger door, his eyes wide and alert as he watched the road through the front windshield.

"You okay?" Sam asked softly, concerned by the brooding expression on his brother's face. He knew Dean was in pain, but he suspected the pull of his brother's brow was due to more than just physical discomfort.

Dean glanced at him before giving a brief jerk of his chin, his eyes returning to stare out at the road.

"Anything you want to talk about?" Sam persisted cautiously, well aware of Dean's reluctance to share his feelings. The last few days had been hard on them both, leaving wounds both physical and emotional, and while Sam always felt slightly better after talking, it was something that had always been difficult for Dean to do.

Dean gave a small shrug, shifting slightly in the seat as he tried to find a comfortable position. "Are you still upset about killing the sheriff?" he asked, the question coming completely out of the blue, taking Sam slightly off guard.

"Of course," he answered immediately, blinking over at his brother before returning his eyes to the road. "Truthfully, I didn't even really mean to do it," he added, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "I just wanted to drop him so I could get to you, but I guess I hit him a bit harder than I thought."

"You did what you had to, Sam," Dean stated quietly.

"I know." Sam replied, swallowing hard and shifting slightly in his seat. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't still bother me."

Dean nodded in understanding. "I'd be worried if it didn't," he replied simply.

"So what about you?" Sam prompted, sparing another quick glance in his brother's direction. "As soon as I saw you grab that gun, I thought for sure you were going to kill Ty right then and there. Why'd you stop?"

"I don't know," Dean replied wearily, rubbing a hand slowly down across his face. "I probably should have, and part of me definitely wanted to, but…" he trailed off, the fingers of one hand tapping a slow cadence against his leg. "I guess I had just seen enough blood shed over the last couple of days," he finished softly.

Sam went still at his brother's words, holding his breath as he waited to see if Dean would continue. He knew his brother was hiding the details of his ordeal at the camp, and as curious as he was, he didn't want to pressure Dean into sharing… not when the wounds were still so raw. At the same time, he found himself hoping his brother would choose to talk to him instead of burying it all behind a wall, as was his normal practice.

It seemed he was going to be in luck, for Dean continued on a moment later, his voice low and rough. "There was another fight, you know," he stated simply, his gaze locked out the front window. "Before the one you saw…the first fight, actually."

Sam glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but didn't speak, somehow afraid to interrupt.

"The guy didn't want to fight me at first," Dean continued, still not looking at Sam. "But I could see it in his eyes…the moment he made the decision that it was going to be either him or me. They threw a knife into the arena, and he managed to get to it before I did. The next thing I knew, he was coming at me, and I simply reacted…I killed him Sam. He was barely older than you, and I killed him."

Dean's admission came as no surprise to Sam…he had already suspected as much, though he hadn't known the details. Still, he found himself swallowing hard at the raw emotion in his brother's voice. "You didn't have a choice, Dean," he replied quietly. "He came at you with a knife. What were you supposed to do, just stand there and let him kill you? You're a fighter, Dean…a survivor."

Dean slowly shook his head. "Maybe that's the problem," he murmured, his voice so soft Sam barely heard the words over the rumble of the Impala's engine.

"What?" Sam frowned, risking a long glance away from the road so he could peer at his brother. "What are you trying to say, Dean?"

Dean sighed wearily. "I don't know, Sam," he muttered, rubbing a hand back through his short hair. "I guess I just wonder sometimes how many people might still be alive if I _wasn't_ such a fighter."

Sam felt an iron knot form in his chest at his brother's words, and his hand gripped the steering wheel so tightly he felt his fingers beginning to cramp.

"First there was Marshall," Dean continued, his voice taking on a haunted tone. "then dad, and now this guy. All of them would be alive right now if _I _hadn't fought so hard to survive."

Sam swallowed the knot in his throat. "Your life is no less important than theirs, Dean," he stated softly, willing his brother to accept the truth in that statement

"Yeah, maybe," Dean grunted doubtfully, "but it's no _more_ important either."

_It is to me_, Sam thought, but didn't speak the words aloud. Dean had always had trouble accepting his own worth. It was one of the reasons his brother had had such a difficult time with their father's death. He just couldn't accept that John had placed Dean's life over his own. In his eyes he didn't believe himself worth that sacrifice. Sam only wished he knew the words to say to make Dean understand that he really was.

He suddenly remembered the conversation they'd had only a few short months ago, when Dean had finally broken down and shared his feelings over their father's death. He remembered Dean's statement, 'what's dead should stay dead,' and the raw pain in his brother's eyes as he'd asked Sam what he could possibly say to make things right. Sam had been shocked speechless by his brother's words, unable to come up with a single thing to say to offer him comfort. He couldn't help but feel that he had failed Dean then, and he was suddenly determined not to let it happen again.

Stepping on the brakes, he quickly pulled the car over to the side of the road, flipping it into park as soon as they had come to a standstill. Dean was looking at him with surprised confusion, his features quickly turning concerned. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes flashing to Sam's bandaged arm.

"Fine," Sam replied shortly, turning in the seat so he could face his brother straight on. "You talk as though fighting to survive is a bad thing, Dean," he accused, leveling his brother with an intense stare. "You're so worried about the people that have died because of you that you can't see all the people that are _alive_ because of you!"

"Sam…" Dean began, but Sam cut him off, not yet finished with what he had to say.

"What do you think would have happened to all the people you have saved if you hadn't been around?" he asked harshly. "There would be a hell of a lot more people dead now, I can tell you that much. And what about me?" he continued, "If you had died in that arena, then I would be dead now too, and Ty would have gotten away with everything. He would have continued running the fights and more people would have died…who knows how many more."

Dean sighed, lifting a hand to rub tiredly at his eyes. "Alright Sam, I get it," he muttered.

"Do you?" Sam demanded, his voice rising a notch. "Do you_ really_, Dean? Do you have any idea how many people out there you have saved? How many people _still _need to be saved? Hell, you've rescued my sorry ass more times than I care to remember, so don't you _dare_ try to say your life isn't worth fighting for! People still need you, Dean. _I_ still need you!"

There was a ringing silence in the car after this last statement, Sam glaring at his brother while Dean returned his look with an unreadable expression. Sam refused to drop his eyes, though he felt a sudden flash of embarrassment over losing his cool. He hadn't meant to go postal on his brother, but Dean's words had scared him on a level he didn't like to admit. He wanted Dean to see that his life had _meaning_…had _worth_, because until he did, it would only be a matter of time before his brother cast it aside like worthless junk.

"Okay, Sam," Dean said softly, the first to drop his gaze. "I get what you're saying…I really do. And I promise you, I'm not going to go kamikaze on you or anything. You're my brother, and I'm going to keep looking out for you…no matter what."

Sam closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. The answer wasn't what he had been looking for, and he still wasn't sure that Dean really _did_ understand, but he decided it was probably the best he was going to get. If it had to be duty that drove Dean to fight, then so be it…at least he would fight.

"You want me to take over driving for a while?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Sam shook his head, and without looking at his brother he shifted the car back into drive, pulling back out onto the road.

He hadn't driven very far before he heard his brother softly whisper, "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam nodded, and a few minutes later when he glanced over, he found Dean fast asleep, his head cradled against the glass of the window, his breathing deep and even. Sam felt the hard knot in his chest slowly beginning to ease, and he reached out and flipped the radio on, turning it down low so as not to disturb his sleeping brother.

He knew the effects of this hunt would stay with them for a while, but they were both alive and together, and that was the important thing. He had no idea what the future was going to bring, but as long as they faced it together, he had to believe they would be okay.

Humming along quietly to the music, he stepped on the accelerator and put Denton far behind them.

* * *

_Ten days later_

"Hey Dean, come take a look at this."

Dean glanced up from his position leaning against the bed's headboard, lowering the newspaper he had been perusing to look at his brother. Sam was seated at the small table across the room, his tall frame hunched as he leaned over and read something on the screen of his laptop.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Dean pushed himself to his feet…feeling only a slight twinge across his chest as he did so…and headed over to join his brother. Sam had an article pulled up on the screen from the Jonesboro Herald, and Dean arched an eyebrow as he read the title: _Federal investigation continues into allegations of illegal fight club._

_Residents of the small town of Denton, Arkansas were left reeling yesterday as federal agents arrested over a dozen people in conjunction with allegations of an illegal fight club in the area. Investigations began last Friday after the discovery of the brutal death of two men, including Denton's sheriff, in an area home. Both men are believed to have been involved in the fight club, and the FBI have placed at least two other residents in protective custody until the investigation is completed. The fight club is believed linked to the disappearance of over forty missing men over the last decade, and authorities claim there may be even more victims. "This is the largest and most organized fight club this agency has ever seen," commented Agent Henricksen, who is the lead agent in the investigation. "We are expecting many more arrests in the coming days." He made no further comment, and very little information is being released while the investigation is underway._

The article continued on for a few more paragraphs, but was mostly filled with the author's speculations and predictions, along with a few statements from the "shocked" residents of Denton. Dean only skimmed the last part, having already seen what he needed to.

"Looks like Henricksen is finally earning his pay," He commented dryly, straightening from the computer. "I must admit, I never thought the guy would actually come in handy."

Sam grunted his agreement, his brow furrowed slightly in a small frown. "I'm a little surprised there's no mention of us in the article," he mused. "I would have thought he would jump all over the chance to pin more crap on us."

Dean shrugged. "My guess is, he still hasn't figured out how we fit into the whole thing, so he's keeping it quiet for now. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful. It might keep some of the pressure off us for a while."

Sam nodded. "Well at least he's protecting Maria and Annie. Hopefully this whole thing will be over soon and they can return to their lives."

Dean nodded slowly. "Speaking of returning to lives…"he began hesitantly, watching his brother's face carefully. "Do you think you'll be feeling up to hitting the road again here soon?"

They had been holed up in this hotel room outside of Waco, Texas for over a week, barely daring to go outside lest their battered appearance draw too much attention. Dean had recognized the need for the downtime to rest and recover from their injuries, but he had never done well staying in one place for too long, and he was beginning to grow restless. With Henricksen's attention on something else besides them for once, he felt it was a good time to get back to work. Still, he didn't want to pressure Sam to leave until his brother was ready.

Sam glanced up at him, his eyebrows arched. "I was just about to ask you the same thing," he admitted ruefully. "This place is getting a bit stifling."

Dean couldn't hide his relief, and a wide grin slowly spread across his face.

"I may even have found a job for us," Sam continued, snapping his laptop shut and reaching to pull the cord free from the wall. "There's been some weird activity along highway 41 outside of Nevada City. I haven't finished looking into it yet, but it sounds like it might be our kind of thing."

"Let's do it!" Dean replied enthusiastically, already turning to begin packing his bags.

They had work to do…and that felt good.

* * *

_Well, that's it, folks. I hope you have enjoyed this story. I have certainly enjoyed writing it. If you did like it, consider leaving me a review and letting me know your thoughts._

_Thanks so much for reading. Until next time..._


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